HOW MUCH DESCRIPTION IS TOO MUCH?

Remember I am no expert. My knowledge on any writing topic comes from a few years of self-study, and lest you think I know a great deal, let me set you straight. I am no…Sorry, I’ve already said that.

Why am I writing about this boring topic? Lately, more lavish description than is needed or wanted seems to be creeping in some fiction. While our writing instructors tell us “less is more,” and encourage us to omit descriptive phrases, we still feel compelled to endlessly describe.

“Her lovely eyes resembled pieces of emerald, shadowed by long, lush lashes, set in an alabaster face worthy of the most beautiful of angels.” (I made that up.) First of all, this passage must be from the Hero’s POV. How many men do you know, or have ever existed had thoughts like this? “Her eyes sure were pretty, sort of green.” A cowboy might think; or a modern man might say this: “Her eyes were so pretty, I wish I had the words to describe them.”

AVOID detailed descriptions of characters. Elmore Leonard in his Ten Rules of Writing, says, In Ernest Hemingway’s “Hills Like White Elephants” what do the “American and the girl with him” look like? “She had taken off her hat and put it on the table.” That’s the only reference to a physical description in the story, yet we see the couple and know them by the tones of voice, with not one adverb in sight.

However, I need either some description of the characters in some manner, or none at all. Why? Because I visualize the characters, and unless I have a clue early on I’ll paint a picture of them myself. If an author waits until about the fourth or fifth chapter to finally let me know the girl is petite, buxom, with coal-black hair hanging almost to her waist, I might have her pictured her as tall, lithe, and blond. By that time I have so much invested in my version, the author’s description makes me irritable.

AVOID great detailed descriptions of places and things. We don’t need to impress our readers with the beauty of our story setting. If we go on and on about it, heaping up adjectives and adverbs along the way, we run the risk of losing our readers because they have become weary and slam the book shut.

Again, as a reader myself, I do need to know in some creative way the surroundings or setting of the novel.

Now that I’ve offered this advice, I’m still in the process of “how much description is too much.” Or maybe I should be learning how to include my descriptions without listing everything in one paragraph.

I do love to write. Here’s an descriptive excerpt from a WIP. Someday I hope to finish it. ~~From A Life Worth Living~~

***

“Mama, do we get cake? It’s daytime.”

Teresa said to her daughter, “Yes, I know, sweetie, but sometimes we get cake in the daytime when we have company.”

“Oh.”

Teresa said, “Let’s say grace. Shall we?” She looked at Guy for his approval.

Guy nodded, not knowing what was proper or what was not. It had been a long time since he or anyone else he knew said grace over a piece of cake, let alone one hard biscuit filled with weevils, or one glop of tasteless corn mush for breakfast, eaten standing up, ready to run at a moment’s notice if shells began to explode around them.

“Mr. Reynolds? Would you say grace?”

Guy remained frozen, as terrified as he had been at times when he ran for his life, his rifle cocked and ready, through bombings and gunfire and thick, black, greasy smoke. He sat there, his heart pounding, his head bursting with the sound of weapons and explosions, visibly shaking and looking at the cake, seeing instead, blood, and men’s intestines spilling out, and hearing unearthly groans and screams.

Hell couldn’t be much worse, he thought. But he looked up and sought her beautiful blue eyes, the color of the sky in Brussels when the smoke cleared and the sun shone on the destruction of war that men inflicted on each other. God help him, he thought he would cry. No, he thought, with steely determination, I’ll not let her see my weakness and pain.

“Yes, ma’am. Let’s bow our heads.”

***

Celia Yeary

Romance…and a little bit o' Texas

http://www.celiayeary.com/

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Clean Writing: The "Avoids"

Writing science research papers taught me the process of clean writing—manuscripts free of too many useless words. "Just the facts, ma'am." As a result, my first fiction manuscript was a failure. The editor told me my writing read like a textbook. That sort of hurt, but the statement opened a floodgate of words that's still gushing. I could use adjectives! And adverbs! And descriptions!
But also…too many useless words and phrases.

Still, I absolutely love to embellish sentences with adjectives, adverbs, and well…a long list of writing errors. If I remove the useless words in the previous sentence, I think it reads like a textbook. Where is that fine line?

AVOID USELESS WORDS: We consider good writing concise, vigorous, and active. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, as a machine should contain no extra parts. Fine idea. But an automobile is a machine. The first cars were little more than a buggy with an engine attached. They were unattractive and uncomfortable. The automobiles today contain endless useless parts, but we buy them because of those extra appealing parts.

I do agree, though, certain useless words or phrases need to go.

1. "there is no doubt but that" should be "no doubt" or "doubtless"

2. "this is a subject that" should be "this subject"

3. "the reason why is that" should be "because"

4. "owing to the fact that" should be "since" or "because"

5. "he is a man who" should be "he"

AVOID USE OF QUALIFIERS: A qualifier is a word or a word group that limits the meaning of another word or word group. The worst offenders are rather, very, little, and pretty.

"I should do pretty well on the exam, for I am a rather brilliant student, but if I make very many mistakes, I'll try to do a little better."

AVOID LOOSE SENTENCES: A loose sentence is one consisting of two clauses, the second introduced by a conjunction or relative. Too many loose sentences in one paragraph will sound mechanical and singsong. The compound sentence is the framework of writing, when used wisely and sparingly.

"The last concert of the season was given last night, and the hall was filled to capacity. Jane Doe was the soloist, and John Smith accompanied her on the piano. She proved to be quite capable, while he performed admirably. The concert series has been successful, and the committee was gratified. The committee will plan for next year's programs, and they will offer an equally attractive program." Blech!

Today's subject appeared because I've been in edits the last two weeks. A kind editor—in so many words--told me: You begin too many sentences with well, now, so, or why. In some cases, these words are acceptable, especially when included in dialogue. Southern people talk this way, but in narration, use sparingly.

This made sense to me, because when I talk with a friend—on-line or face to face—those little words pop up all the time.

"What did she say when you said her hair was orange?"
"Well, first she stared. Then her eyes sort of bugged out, and before I knew it, why, she started bawling."
"Oh, my goodness. Now, here's what you should have said, darlin'. You just do not want to make her any madder."
"So, what should I have said?"

And so, well, I need to bring this post to a halt. I need to make a little lunch, because the fact is that my husband is mowing this morning, and he'll be starving. There's no doubt, though, that he won't say an unkind word to me if lunch if just a little late.

(if you can edit this paragraph, you will receive an A+)

Celia Yeary
Romance…and a little bit o' Texas
www.celiayeary.com


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Maybe I Could Write a Vintage Romanc....

**Our first car was a 1956 Baby Blue Chevy with standard fins.**
With publishers asking for “vintage romances,” I believe I qualify to write one. First, though, vintage? The fifties? Not what I had in mind. Vintage to me means the Victorian Era, the Deep South before the Civil War, the Roaring Twenties, perhaps. But yes, the 1950 decade does fit the guidelines. It’s just that I remember the time so well—how can it truly be vintage? Oh, well, I will ignore my distress over this revelation and try to write a story. Now, let me see…what do I remember?

**Me in fourth grade--my smart-aleck period. Check out the saddle oxfords.**

I grew up on the South Plains, in the northwest portion of Texas. Often, I relive and reminisce about the place I called home, where the sand blew in the spring so hard that we wore headscarves to keep our hair down. We ran to the car with the sand stinging the backs of our legs because Mother didn’t allow us to wear jeans to school. A few of my classmates and I have kept in touch all these years, and we believe there, on the flat table-top Caprock, where the sky looked like a big blue bowl turned upside down on a sea of green cotton or brown plowed dirt, our roots run deep and strong and firm. There’s something sacred about it, holding the clean, pure air and sky and land in our hearts.

It was the best of times, “the Nifty Fifties”, labeled conservative, a classic American era, in which all was right in our country. But we, as well as the entire population, were in the throes of dying innocence.

**Ahhh, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean. Lived too fast, too hard, died too young**
We might attribute the rumble of the approaching social revolution, which culminated in the sixties, to Elvis, the hydrogen bomb, the McCarthy hearings, James Dean and Marilyn Monroe.

America would never be the same.

**I was in high school before we could afford a television set.**
The fifties decade remains permanently imbedded in my heart and mind. With vivid clarity, I remember those years as a time of forming values and beliefs and a way of life. Our family was typical—a father who worked, a mother who kept house and tended to us girls, and we lived in a house built by our own Daddy’s hands. We lived the life we later watched on television, then in the form of sitcoms. Father Knows Best, Leave it to Beaver, Happy Days—weekly episodes of a family who ate dinner together every night—called supper in Texas—with the father in charge of the household, and the mother teaching the children to wash hands before eating and mind their manners.

**I swear! I had a dress just like this one!**
I just know I could write a romance novel set in the fifties. Now, to find the time.

Thank you! 

Celia Yeary

Romance…and a little bit o' Texas

http://www.celiayeary.com/  

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