Some languages get their power from colorful imagery (Arabic, for example). Others—like Chinese and English—offer strong verbs. Are the verbs in your stories doing all the work you want them to do? Weak verbs produce flabby prose.

Avoiding Weak Verbs

The various forms of the verb “to be” are weak verbs. “To be” verbs—is, are, was, were, and so on—do only one thing, they establish that something or somebody exists, they do not tell us anything more. They embody no action. Other weak verbs include forms of have and do, as well as shall, will, should, would, may, might, must, can, and could. As an editor, I like sentences that get to the point. “There is” and “there are” are weak ways to start a sentence. Instead of plunging readers into the action, they put distance between you and your reader.

“To be” verbs slip into our writing in other roles too. You use them when you want to suggest a continuing action, one that takes place over time, like “She was eating a sandwich while he talked,” though you could just as well say the more direct “She ate a sandwich while he talked.” Compare this pair of sentences. Which arouses more interest?

He was driving erratically. versus
The car veered over the center line and back right, nearly clipping the curb.

“To be” verbs also appear in passive voice constructions. Editors constantly tell writers to “avoid the passive.” Passive constructions hide the responsible actor (like the famous “Mistakes were made.” By whom?). Of course, if you’re writing a mystery, you may want to obscure the guilty party! The passive does work occasionally, but, as a general rule, steer clear. (Find some passive voice myths punctured here.)

Sensory Verbs—Do You Need Them?

Verbs related to one of the senses—heard, saw, smelled, tasted, felt—often end up being filter verbs. They put distance—a filter—between you as the author and your readers. If you write, “Jack heard the front door slam,” you tell readers three things: the door slammed, and Jack heard it, and some unseen narrator is telling them so. You’ve put a little narrative gap in there. If you simply write “the front door slammed,” the reader hears it too. Directly. Much more engaging. Another comparison:

She saw a man’s shadow on the bedroom wall. versus
A man’s shadow inched across her bedroom wall.

Your Prose Isn’t a Movie

As you picture the action of a story in your mind, you may be tempted to describe all your characters’ movements for clarity. But readers easily follow everyday actions involving sitting, standing, turning, walking, etc. without having them spelled out. There’s no one right choice in handling everyday actions. The important thing is to think about it. Make your choice consciously. For example:

He stood up from the chair and walked through the door, out into the hall. versus
He left the room.

No one will think he dragged the chair out of the room with him. Of course he got up. And he couldn’t have left the room without walking through the door. You can cut to the chase unless there’s a reason not to. Another one:

She rose from the kitchen table, shuffled to the stove and picked up the coffeepot, turned back to me at the table, and filled my cup. versus
She poured me another cup of coffee.

If she poured the cup of coffee, all the other actions are implied, and you can move along, unless there’s a compelling reason for all the detail. Maybe she is very weak or infirm, and doing all that is a Big Deal. Maybe the reader knows she’s put something harmful in the coffee, so the minute attention to the action is deliberately dragging out the suspense.

More on verbs next Tuesday.

Part 1: Introduction to “ Every Word’s a Choice”—finding the best words to tell your story. The series is based on a talk I recently gave at a writers’ conference. https://vweisfeld.com/?p=11484
Part 2:  Using effective nouns to establish a relationship with readers. https://vweisfeld.com/?p=11501