by Donna Hatch
I am often approached about critiquing people’s writing. Some of those requests are from established critique partners, some are from other writers in my various writing groups. I’ve been asked to critique short stories, anecdotes, novels and memoirs.
People seem to think that there are hard and fast rules to writing, but in order to developing that fresh, original voice editors crave can be difficult. Especially if one is getting bogged down in obeying all the rules!
If you focus instead on avoiding major blunders rather than staying within the lines, so to speak, it can help.
One of the big mistakes writers make is called Passive Voice. Some people advise new writers to watch out for using the weak verbs “to be.” Remember those from grade school? Am, is, are, was, were, be, been, being, etc?
I often hear mentors caution against using the verb “was” and it’s other “to be” verbs because they’re weak. That’s true. They are weak. Whimpy. Meant to be used very sparingly. They also signify passive voice.
Here are two examples:
“She was angry.” This could be more effective if changed to “She trembled in anger.”
“It rained very hard on them as they ran.” This could be “Rain pummeled them as they ran.”
Not only do these second examples use stronger verbs, they are more specific and paint a clearer visual picture.
Just to throw in another monkey wrench, using the words “feel” or “felt” waters down your narrative, too.
"I felt the dog shiver in my arms" is not as strong as "The dog shivered in my arms."
Here's another, "I felt sick" is weaker than "My stomach lurched."
And "I was happy" not only uses the dreaded WAS, but it’s also passive voice. "I felt happy" gets rid of the word was, but it doesn't get improve the passive voice.
Remember, show, don't tell. Try something like. "Unable to keep the smile off my face, I..." or "with a lighter heart and a spring in my step, I..." that way, you are showing that you’re happy and not just telling. See what I mean?"
So remember, to write in strong, active voice, try to avoid “to be” verbs, and “feel” or “felt,” and watch your writing come alive
Happy Writing!
TTFN
Donna
Believe in Happy Endings…
Wherein Marsha Ward (the founder of American Night Writers Association) and a few of her friends blogged about Life, the Universe, and their place in the World of Writing and Publishing. This blog is now dormant.
May 11, 2007
May 10, 2007
Questions
by Kari Diane Pike
Our nine-year-old son asked me a question the other day. I didn’t have the answer. I told him I would have to think about it for awhile. That was Sunday. Today is Thursday. I still don’t have the answer. I discussed it with my husband. I discussed it with a friend at church. I even discussed it with complete strangers while I worked out at Curves. Now I am discussing it with you.
His question is, “What is the difference between power and strength?”
Personally, I think there is more than one answer to that question. I think it depends not only on the context of the question, but on the use of the words, “power” and “strength.” It depends on your personal experiences and perspectives, your age and even your gender.
I think you can have great strength (or physical ability), but you may not have the power (as is authority) to use that strength. I also think you can have power, but lack the strength (as in character) to successfully use that power.
I thought of my dear father-in-law when I pondered this question. Dad suffers from advanced Alzheimer’s. He used to have power and strength. His body and mind were strong and active. The man could build or fix anything. He always requested me to have a “honey-do” list ready for him whenever he came to visit. He was, as Kenny Chesney would sing it, our “unsinkable ship”…our “unbreakable wall.” Dad still has a great strength of body and will. He can walk for miles. He is determined to find whatever he is looking for. But his power of reasoning is gone. His power to communicate effectively is gone. He has lost the power to live independently. This man, who could take apart an engine and rebuild it again, can’t even figure out how to undo his own seatbelt.
His wife of nearly 60 years cares for Ken in the home they purchased over 40 years ago. Mom is his power. Everything she does for him is motivated by love and her desire to preserve his dignity and independence. Mom has been given strength beyond her ability to care for Dad. Mom has also been given the power to discern his needs and to communicate her love to him.
I thought about power and strength as it applies to our writing. What is the difference between powerful writing and strong writing? Is there a difference? Is one better than the other? You tell me.
Oh, and by the way, our son (the one who asked the question) is going to be a fifth grader next year. His teacher urged us to let him audition for the “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?” show. Would any of you consider something like that for your child, or do you think it unwise to expose kids to that type of experience?
Our nine-year-old son asked me a question the other day. I didn’t have the answer. I told him I would have to think about it for awhile. That was Sunday. Today is Thursday. I still don’t have the answer. I discussed it with my husband. I discussed it with a friend at church. I even discussed it with complete strangers while I worked out at Curves. Now I am discussing it with you.
His question is, “What is the difference between power and strength?”
Personally, I think there is more than one answer to that question. I think it depends not only on the context of the question, but on the use of the words, “power” and “strength.” It depends on your personal experiences and perspectives, your age and even your gender.
I think you can have great strength (or physical ability), but you may not have the power (as is authority) to use that strength. I also think you can have power, but lack the strength (as in character) to successfully use that power.
I thought of my dear father-in-law when I pondered this question. Dad suffers from advanced Alzheimer’s. He used to have power and strength. His body and mind were strong and active. The man could build or fix anything. He always requested me to have a “honey-do” list ready for him whenever he came to visit. He was, as Kenny Chesney would sing it, our “unsinkable ship”…our “unbreakable wall.” Dad still has a great strength of body and will. He can walk for miles. He is determined to find whatever he is looking for. But his power of reasoning is gone. His power to communicate effectively is gone. He has lost the power to live independently. This man, who could take apart an engine and rebuild it again, can’t even figure out how to undo his own seatbelt.
His wife of nearly 60 years cares for Ken in the home they purchased over 40 years ago. Mom is his power. Everything she does for him is motivated by love and her desire to preserve his dignity and independence. Mom has been given strength beyond her ability to care for Dad. Mom has also been given the power to discern his needs and to communicate her love to him.
I thought about power and strength as it applies to our writing. What is the difference between powerful writing and strong writing? Is there a difference? Is one better than the other? You tell me.
Oh, and by the way, our son (the one who asked the question) is going to be a fifth grader next year. His teacher urged us to let him audition for the “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?” show. Would any of you consider something like that for your child, or do you think it unwise to expose kids to that type of experience?
May 9, 2007
Words: Good or Gold
by Anna Arnett
A Few Thoughts About Words
I'm not an expert, even in my own opinion, but I believe I've learned a few things. So, I'm listing them here for my own benefit and review. Hopefully, I'll even use them.
I suppose it's universally agreed that words form the basis for passing on all information—whether truth or falsehood. The more enticingly words are combined, the greater their longevity.
I remember plowing through textbooks that, while they may have held valuable, and possibly fascinating information, were very somnolent for me. Yet I can still easily stay awake all night reading good fiction as I involve myself, heart and soul, with the protagonists, cheering for their success, or weeping for their sorrows.
What makes the difference? Books of all kinds are written merely with words, and according to Word Power, I have an excellent vocabulary. Still, I recall my frustration of almost half a century ago when, while trying to read a college textbook on the history of education, I almost gave up in despair. Here I sat reading the words, eager to learn because I needed the information to pass the class. I knew a definition for every single word in the chapter, yet I had no idea what it actually said. How could that be? At that time, I attributed it to the fifteen-odd years since I had tackled a textbook but I have since often pondered. Why do some combinations of words bore, while others vitalize?
Perhaps it could be because some words get their mileage only in usage. All words are good, and useful in their place but, let's face it, many are extremely mild. They carry little inspiration and, though they willingly assist with all they have, they volunteer very little.
For example, all 'to be' words (is, was, were, are, etc.) are quite static. Sure, they are good words, but they just sit there. I'd like to compare a narrative filled with was-es to a sketch—a rough draft that could stand alone, but also could be developed into something spectacular. Nobody knows better than a fellow artist how much input and imagination it takes to portray any picture, whether with a camera, pencil, brush, or words. Now, if a writer doesn’t elucidate, it leaves the reader to fill in the blanks. In that case, if the reader lacks imagination, the story stays flat.
All action words are not equal. Some can be rather sluggish and indeterminate (came, went, walked, etc.) yet they do give direction, and movement, thus instilling a bit of life. We might say they turn a snapshot-like narrative into something comparable to a slide show, or to the old, jerky, silent movies. (Have you watched any? They are terrific in their own way. Rudolph Valentino exemplified liquid grace even then, and my favorite, Buster Keaton, kept me laughing or cheering without even speaking a word. But I digress.)
Just as better cameras and techniques give grace and fluidity to a movie, so precise, specific action words give depth and understanding to reading. Things flow better as we picture details more easily.
Then there are ‘reaction' words that depict thought and emotion. They help us identify with characters; put ourselves into the story so we really care about what is happening. May I compare it with adding sound to personalize and vitalize a film?
Moreover, is a drama nearly as effective without music? We expect a love scene when violins play, tense for danger with somber tones, are energized by drum beat—you get the picture. Likewise, the words we choose can sway feelings, and bring thoughts not stated. Just as poetry is a concise way of playing upon our emotions as well as upon our minds, words of prose can carry, not only the precise meaning, but also a world of connotation. To write poetically, then, is to choose persuasive, meaningful, words whose very sound, rhythm and sometimes rhyme will contribute to the overall effect. Poetic writing is music to the soul. Remember to take time to read your manuscript aloud to see how it flows.
Some black-and-white films are wonderful but not many people prefer them to color. Therefore, toss in short, descriptive words or phrases.
Putting it all together properly, with imagination and verve, can legendize any story, whether spoken, written or filmed. Words are only tools of the trade. Mark Twain is supposed to have quipped, “Anybody can write a book. Every word you need is right there in the dictionary.” A thesaurus helps find word variety but you, the author, must make the choice.
Precise, descriptive words are golden. Go for the gold.
A Few Thoughts About Words
I'm not an expert, even in my own opinion, but I believe I've learned a few things. So, I'm listing them here for my own benefit and review. Hopefully, I'll even use them.
I suppose it's universally agreed that words form the basis for passing on all information—whether truth or falsehood. The more enticingly words are combined, the greater their longevity.
I remember plowing through textbooks that, while they may have held valuable, and possibly fascinating information, were very somnolent for me. Yet I can still easily stay awake all night reading good fiction as I involve myself, heart and soul, with the protagonists, cheering for their success, or weeping for their sorrows.
What makes the difference? Books of all kinds are written merely with words, and according to Word Power, I have an excellent vocabulary. Still, I recall my frustration of almost half a century ago when, while trying to read a college textbook on the history of education, I almost gave up in despair. Here I sat reading the words, eager to learn because I needed the information to pass the class. I knew a definition for every single word in the chapter, yet I had no idea what it actually said. How could that be? At that time, I attributed it to the fifteen-odd years since I had tackled a textbook but I have since often pondered. Why do some combinations of words bore, while others vitalize?
Perhaps it could be because some words get their mileage only in usage. All words are good, and useful in their place but, let's face it, many are extremely mild. They carry little inspiration and, though they willingly assist with all they have, they volunteer very little.
For example, all 'to be' words (is, was, were, are, etc.) are quite static. Sure, they are good words, but they just sit there. I'd like to compare a narrative filled with was-es to a sketch—a rough draft that could stand alone, but also could be developed into something spectacular. Nobody knows better than a fellow artist how much input and imagination it takes to portray any picture, whether with a camera, pencil, brush, or words. Now, if a writer doesn’t elucidate, it leaves the reader to fill in the blanks. In that case, if the reader lacks imagination, the story stays flat.
All action words are not equal. Some can be rather sluggish and indeterminate (came, went, walked, etc.) yet they do give direction, and movement, thus instilling a bit of life. We might say they turn a snapshot-like narrative into something comparable to a slide show, or to the old, jerky, silent movies. (Have you watched any? They are terrific in their own way. Rudolph Valentino exemplified liquid grace even then, and my favorite, Buster Keaton, kept me laughing or cheering without even speaking a word. But I digress.)
Just as better cameras and techniques give grace and fluidity to a movie, so precise, specific action words give depth and understanding to reading. Things flow better as we picture details more easily.
Then there are ‘reaction' words that depict thought and emotion. They help us identify with characters; put ourselves into the story so we really care about what is happening. May I compare it with adding sound to personalize and vitalize a film?
Moreover, is a drama nearly as effective without music? We expect a love scene when violins play, tense for danger with somber tones, are energized by drum beat—you get the picture. Likewise, the words we choose can sway feelings, and bring thoughts not stated. Just as poetry is a concise way of playing upon our emotions as well as upon our minds, words of prose can carry, not only the precise meaning, but also a world of connotation. To write poetically, then, is to choose persuasive, meaningful, words whose very sound, rhythm and sometimes rhyme will contribute to the overall effect. Poetic writing is music to the soul. Remember to take time to read your manuscript aloud to see how it flows.
Some black-and-white films are wonderful but not many people prefer them to color. Therefore, toss in short, descriptive words or phrases.
Putting it all together properly, with imagination and verve, can legendize any story, whether spoken, written or filmed. Words are only tools of the trade. Mark Twain is supposed to have quipped, “Anybody can write a book. Every word you need is right there in the dictionary.” A thesaurus helps find word variety but you, the author, must make the choice.
Precise, descriptive words are golden. Go for the gold.
May 8, 2007
Mary Greer's "Boxes"
My name is Mary Greer and I am a member of the Pima Poets and Penners. I am blog-sitting for Rene while she is off in Mexico working on her tan. She suggested that I might shock you all by sharing a journal entry called “Boxes”. Here it is.
We are all given decorated boxes containing invaluable gifts of indescribable beauty. We have myriads of gifts, some the same, some different, and we open them at different times, on our individual pacing charts, as we progress through life. Of course, some we don’t value, some we allow to tarnish or sit on a shelf in a dark basement collecting dust, and some we don’t open because we are afraid. Some, because, like waiting for Christmas, it isn’t time yet, we don’t open at all.
Some gifts, like motherhood, infinitely precious, are made of the highest grade diamond, and like those diamonds, for all of their beauty, have razor sharp edges that can slice us to the core. This gift box of motherhood is one of the most highly prized gifts in the church. Read The Family Proclamation. Men have the priesthood, women—motherhood. My whole purpose for being is to be a mother. My whole worth as a woman in Zion is…to be a mother.
I have prepared for that moment that I would have children for all of my life—11 children, 5 biological and 6 adopted. I’ve bought clothes and toys for my babies. I’ve collected books for my children. They will love this book; we will read that one together. I’ve studied and know all about effective discipline and child development. I’ve loved and treasured each nephew and niece, each new classroom of school children.
I’ve bled through every vacation—doesn’t matter how I calendar it. I’ve missed swimming in Lake Erie 3 times now, despite careful planning. I’ve missed weddings and missionary first endowments because of wearing temple white. I’ve suffered many things of many physicians because…some day I would be a mother.
Ain’t happenin’, Babe. This gift is not for me at this time. The two weeks before my surgery were a couple of the most heart wrenching in my life. I got rid of most of my books. I cleaned out my cedar chest and put all of my dreams together to give to DI. They took my treasures and just threw them into a dirty old bin. “Wait,” I wanted to yell. “These things are precious.” Too late. This gift is not for me to open now, not through birth, not even through adoption because children need to go to families where they can be sealed.
The surgery? Life is good. I should have done this when I was 16. Better yet 14 and I could have skipped that whole, humiliating band-trip-wearing-a-white-band-uniform fiasco.
And then there is the sex gift. Read Cosmo—it is the most important thing in life. Some people treasure it, some don’t—another sharp-edged crystalline gift, I guess. I’ve been reading a lot about it lately. Isn’t it incredible what the body does during sex, what changes occur to create an orgasm? Phenomenal. God created our bodies and so he wanted us to have sexual pleasure. Such intricate planning, all of those details!
But I can’t open it yet—not uncommitted sex, not a monogamous relationship. Nada.
There is the connectedness box, the belonging and being special to someone else, someone who can be my friend, with whom I can be emotionally and physically intimate.
Not now. All of the boxes that are the most highly prized in the church, which are supposed to be life’s greatest treasures. Not now.
There are boxes that I have that I can open, that I wouldn’t be able to open otherwise, gifts like a career, independence, education, working with children, being the “special aunt” for my nieces and nephews, gifts of family and friends, the gift of time to pursuit talents and interests, the gift of becoming more physically fit, gifts of time to study and meditate, to sit through Sacrament Meeting unmolested (by my own children), the gift of autonomy, the gift of the time to serve, gifts of the opportunities to strengthen my financial box, gifts of talents and humor, and laughter.
So maybe the whole thing about gifts isn’t the ones that we can’t open now, but the knowledge that we are all opening different boxes, and the fact that some boxes have to wait for now doesn’t diminish their beauty or promise. Like Christmas morning, we will get to them eventually.
We are all given decorated boxes containing invaluable gifts of indescribable beauty. We have myriads of gifts, some the same, some different, and we open them at different times, on our individual pacing charts, as we progress through life. Of course, some we don’t value, some we allow to tarnish or sit on a shelf in a dark basement collecting dust, and some we don’t open because we are afraid. Some, because, like waiting for Christmas, it isn’t time yet, we don’t open at all.
Some gifts, like motherhood, infinitely precious, are made of the highest grade diamond, and like those diamonds, for all of their beauty, have razor sharp edges that can slice us to the core. This gift box of motherhood is one of the most highly prized gifts in the church. Read The Family Proclamation. Men have the priesthood, women—motherhood. My whole purpose for being is to be a mother. My whole worth as a woman in Zion is…to be a mother.
I have prepared for that moment that I would have children for all of my life—11 children, 5 biological and 6 adopted. I’ve bought clothes and toys for my babies. I’ve collected books for my children. They will love this book; we will read that one together. I’ve studied and know all about effective discipline and child development. I’ve loved and treasured each nephew and niece, each new classroom of school children.
I’ve bled through every vacation—doesn’t matter how I calendar it. I’ve missed swimming in Lake Erie 3 times now, despite careful planning. I’ve missed weddings and missionary first endowments because of wearing temple white. I’ve suffered many things of many physicians because…some day I would be a mother.
Ain’t happenin’, Babe. This gift is not for me at this time. The two weeks before my surgery were a couple of the most heart wrenching in my life. I got rid of most of my books. I cleaned out my cedar chest and put all of my dreams together to give to DI. They took my treasures and just threw them into a dirty old bin. “Wait,” I wanted to yell. “These things are precious.” Too late. This gift is not for me to open now, not through birth, not even through adoption because children need to go to families where they can be sealed.
The surgery? Life is good. I should have done this when I was 16. Better yet 14 and I could have skipped that whole, humiliating band-trip-wearing-a-white-band-uniform fiasco.
And then there is the sex gift. Read Cosmo—it is the most important thing in life. Some people treasure it, some don’t—another sharp-edged crystalline gift, I guess. I’ve been reading a lot about it lately. Isn’t it incredible what the body does during sex, what changes occur to create an orgasm? Phenomenal. God created our bodies and so he wanted us to have sexual pleasure. Such intricate planning, all of those details!
But I can’t open it yet—not uncommitted sex, not a monogamous relationship. Nada.
There is the connectedness box, the belonging and being special to someone else, someone who can be my friend, with whom I can be emotionally and physically intimate.
Not now. All of the boxes that are the most highly prized in the church, which are supposed to be life’s greatest treasures. Not now.
There are boxes that I have that I can open, that I wouldn’t be able to open otherwise, gifts like a career, independence, education, working with children, being the “special aunt” for my nieces and nephews, gifts of family and friends, the gift of time to pursuit talents and interests, the gift of becoming more physically fit, gifts of time to study and meditate, to sit through Sacrament Meeting unmolested (by my own children), the gift of autonomy, the gift of the time to serve, gifts of the opportunities to strengthen my financial box, gifts of talents and humor, and laughter.
So maybe the whole thing about gifts isn’t the ones that we can’t open now, but the knowledge that we are all opening different boxes, and the fact that some boxes have to wait for now doesn’t diminish their beauty or promise. Like Christmas morning, we will get to them eventually.
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