Treating Themes Like Shy Forest Animals

Posted on by

So many thought-provoking insights were in the George Saunders interview I wrote about last week, I saved a few for today. One issue he talks about is how politics and themes enter his writing. Not deliberately. He calls the writer mind the one “that wants to pull the big manure truck with your politics and your thematics in it and dump it on the reader.” We’ve all read novels like that, that hammer home their point again and again, as if the reader is too dim to get it.

If you can keep that conceptualizing mind quiet, Saunders believes, your themes and politics will behave “almost like really shy animals.” He recommends simply ignoring them, pretending you’re not interested in them when they come out of the woods. If you instead concentrate on the story you’re telling, these ideas/themes/whatnot will be there. They’ll leach in, coming in “so honestly, and they won’t be abstract, but intimately linked to action and character.”

Maybe that’s why, not deliberately, but completely subconsciously, I didn’t even recognize how much the theme of prejudice (and its ill effects) had seeped into my novel, Architect of Courage. I hadn’t set out to write a book about prejudice; in fact, I hadn’t even realized so much of it was there, in one way or another, until after the book was finished and I was working on blurbs and synopses. You can’t hide who you are, I suppose.

This topic reminds me of how much I admired Brad Parks’s crime novel, The Last Act, which he wrote in furious response to Wachovia and Wells Fargo Banks’ laundering of drug cartel money (which I learned about only because he included an incendiary author’s note). The book itself says nothing to convey his outrage; on the surface it’s an entertaining crime story, with nice twists, but it lays up next to that theme.

Saunders believes it’s a matter of being patient with the writing and letting the story go where it wants to go (the idea of a story having its own wants is a little hard for me; it’s easier to think of letting your subconscious mind work hard), and not forcing it. When an author pushes a story in a particular direction you can run into the problem of, “Oh, she did that goofy thing for plot reasons, not because it makes any sense.” Saunder would probably disagree, but in mysteries, sometimes the plot does need to go in a certain direction, yet it cannot seem that the author is steering it that way. If it’s too blatant, readers feel manipulated.

Television shows, working against constraints of time and possibly imagination, make transparent plot-driven choices all the time. Why do tv police officers always decide not to call back-up? Why do young women wearing long nightgowns and carrying a candle that will inevitably blow out go down in the basement at night to investigate a mysterious noise? These are plot-driven actions that are character-driven only for people who are irresponsibly reckless. We watched two different Scandinavian tv mysteries in a row where a woman officer decided to trail a dangerous suspect in her car at night in bad weather despite her colleagues on the radio saying, “Wait for back-up!” Since one of the main reasons people enjoy reading fiction is finding out “what happens next,” the more the what’s next isn’t obvious, the better off the author is.

Every Word’s a Choice – Part 4 — Verbs (Still) Do the Heavy Lifting

Posted on by


Here’s more on how choosing strong verbs can bring your story alive.

Does your character merely walk into a room? How does he walk in? You can make his style of entry specific and more visual by adding an adverb:
            He walked slowly into the room.
            She walked briskly into the room.
Better yet, choose a strong verb—one that works harder for you.
            He can stroll, sashay, amble, stagger, or trudge into the room.
            She can stride, race, march, skip, or strut.

Characters can hike, parade, saunter, shuffle, step, skip, wander, lope, meander, plod, shamble, hustle, and on and on. It all depends on who they are and what they may expect to find in that room. A teenage boy about to be called to task for denting the family Buick will enter the living room where his father waits very differently than would his sister who just won the school spelling bee. Personally, I’d like to see a character who scuttles into a room, but I haven’t yet written about a scuttler.

Try this
Think about how you might replace the pedestrian verbs in the following sentences with something more interesting. In some cases, tighten up the wording or remove unnecessary filter verbs (like “see,” “hear,” etc.). These sentences aren’t wrong. They’re just not as interesting as they might be. And a whole book of not very interesting sentences ends up being a not very interesting book. Here’s an example of verb replacement: The cat was in a square of bright light. You might replace “was” with “sunned.”

Your turn:
He said that was great. (Hint: take out a couple of words.)
That bullet was much too close for comfort.
From the living room, I heard a great crash.
My glasses, broken in the fall, were in my jacket pocket.
I saw she was much too sunburned to have spent the day at the library.

Let’s look at a few of the verbs in our song (discussed in Part 2 of this series and linked again here). Right away, in the first line you’ll see a “was,” but there’s also a “carried,” which is an action you can picture and a “lived,” (a verb full of life). Strong and evocative verbs in the song include: “stopped rambling,” “marched me away,” “sailed off”—sounds like a lark, doesn’t it?—“stained,” “butchered,” “corpses piled” (no burial niceties). The Australian soldiers “sailed off” but, once wounded, were “shipped” back home, like cargo.

One thought to bear in mind. Words have their usual, literal meaning, but they also carry secondary meanings. “Stained” is a good example. You can understand this verb as merely discoloration of the sand and water, but it also carries—maybe even subconsciously—the implication of shame or something dishonorable: “a stain on one’s reputation.” A stain is almost never a good thing. “Butchered” is another example. While it could just mean killed, in this context, it conjures up another, more powerful meaning—that of “indiscriminate slaughter.” Especially the choice of “like lambs to the slaughter,” with lambs being a symbol of “innocence.”

And, of course, readers bring their own context to a story and the words in it. While we all can be moved by the “lambs to the slaughter” image, the mother or brother of someone slain in war would hear it quite differently.

Like everyone, I have a few writing pet peeves, nails on the blackboard kind-of-things. They include the verbs “get” and “got.” I eliminate them as relentlessly as I chase down a wasp in the house. They’re perfectly fine words, but they mean so many things! Scroll down the list of definitions [https://www.dictionary.com/browse/get], and see for yourself. When you find one of them in your story, it’s an opportunity to identify a more precise verb!

Next Tuesday: Adjective and Adverbs
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
Part 3: A strong verb can do a lot for your story. https://vweisfeld.com/?p=11536

Presumed Guilty by Scott Turow

Posted on by

No doubt many crime fiction readers eagerly anticipated Presumed Guilty, Scott Turow’s new legal thriller. I know I did, having been a fan ever since his debut with Presumed Innocent almost 40 years ago. I looked forward to seeing what his character, Rusty Sabich, is up to, now that he’s in his 70s. And, I relish the clash of wits in a good courtroom drama.

In the current book, Rusty’s tenure as a judge in fictional Kindle County, Minnesota, is finished, and he’s moved about a hundred miles north to rural/small town Skageon County. He’s living on a lake and has found a new live-in love, Bea Housley, a school principal.

Bea is not baggage-free. (Which of us is?) She has an irascible father and an adopted son, Aaron, in his early twenties who spent jail time for drug possession with intent to distribute (the drugs actually belonged to his on-and-off girlfriend, Mae Potter). Out on parole now, Aaron has to abide by certain rules: no driving, no associating with drug addicts, and no leaving the county. He’s in Bea and Rusty’s custody and living with them. Thankfully, he’s pulling his life together.

Mae, the beautiful young woman Aaron’s loved for years, remains a problem. He should not be associating with her, not only because it’s a violation of his parole, but because she’s unstable and manipulative. She’s like a tornado through the lives of her friends and family. But young love is what it is. She and Aaron are secretly considering marriage, and he proposes a weekend camping trip to sort out their future once and for all. No phones, no distractions.

The trip ends with a big argument between them, during which Aaron realizes Mae will never change, that she will always be totally self-absorbed, that people’s advice that she’s not good for him is correct, that he’s done. He hitchhikes home, just as Rusty and Bea were about to report his disappearance to his parole officer.

He makes it home. Mae does not. Two weeks later her decomposed body is found, apparently strangled. Aaron is devastated. Her family is too, and immediately points to Aaron as the probable culprit. That fact that he’s Black and Mae was white hovers over him. Is this why they never approved of Mae and Aaron’s relationship? Mae’s father is the Prosecuting Attorney for Skageon County and puts a lot of law enforcement pressure on Aaron. Eventually, Aaron comes to trial.

Much of the book is the unfolding courtroom drama. I liked that part a lot. It was fascinating to see how the defense team tries to unravel the prosecutor’s evidence, making what at first sounds devastating at least open to interpretation. If you enjoy courtroom scenes, you’ll find some riveting ones here.

But at 530 pages, the book has lots of other stuff packed in as well. There’s too much backstory about Rusty, Bea, and their families and, for my taste, way too much navel-gazing by Rusty around various issues. I recognized that he loves Bea and didn’t need it rehashed multiple times. He agonizes at great length about whether he should become Aaron’s defense attorney, as Bea pleads with him to. He shouldn’t, for obvious reasons, and you read all of them, many times. But of course he’s going to do it, or else what’s in those 530 pages? To complicate Rusty’s emotional state further, he and Bea have a serious falling out over an issue I found frankly implausible.

To sum up, while the trial scenes were great, much of the rest of the story was, for me, seriously over-written. It’s like eating three Christmas dinners in one evening. You’re so stuffed it’s hard to say you actually enjoyed the experience.

Jewels of Scandal and Desire

Posted on by

For a long time, I’ve had the glimmer of an idea for a story about a jeweler for British royalty. You’ll remember how Elizabeth II always wore a lovely pin on her jacket when she was out in public. Somebody must have made them, cleaned them, repaired them. And somebody must have thought about ways to steal them. Somebody besides me, that is.

You can imagine how my interest was piqued by an American Ancestors program “Jewels of Scandal & Desire: British Jewelry Collections and Country Houses,” hosted by Curt DiCamillo, an authority on British historic houses and the decorative arts. He has actually seen some of that jewelry up close, in museum exhibits and when he was presented to the late Queen Elizabeth, The Queen Mother, and The Prince of Wales.

No doubt this is a topic that could have a month’s worth of lectures, and in an hour he had to just hit the highlights and, in some cases, the lowlights of gems among the British royalty. Here are a few anecdotes.

DiCamillo began with Daisy Fellowes, heiress to the Singer sewing fortune. She had an unhappy life, but she did have fabulous jewelry, including the tutti-frutti necklace pictured above with 4500 emeralds, as well as rubies and sapphires, designed by Cartier and now in the Cartier Collection. Cartier also made the spectacular tiara owned by Lady Hugh Montagu Allan (above), who was aboard the Lusitania in 1915 when it was struck by a German torpedo and sunk. One of her maids saved the tiara and Lady Allan was badly injured, but her two daughters were among the 1,150 people lost.

The Earl and Countess of March were tied up for perhaps twelve hours in early 2016 when thieves invaded Goodwood House in West Sussex. They stole jewelry that was not only valuable in monetary terms, but the haul included an emerald and diamond ring King Charles II had given to one of his French mistresses, an ancestor of the Earl. A stolen tiara, containing hundreds of diamonds, was probably disassembled, Di Camillo said. Such pieces are almost never recovered, because loose diamonds are much harder to identify and easier to sell.

While diamonds are often the most prized of the four main gemstones, they’re actually the least valuable. Most valuable are emeralds, followed by rubies, sapphires, and then diamonds. DiCamillo says De Beers has millions of diamonds in warehouses that they don’t release; by limiting availability, they keep the prices high. In the 1700s, diamonds had been found only in India. In the 1800s, they were discovered in Brazil and, later, in South Africa and Russia, so are not as rare as one might think.

A hundred years ago, Margaret Whigham Campbell, Duchess of Argyll, was considered the best-dressed woman in the world. She lived quite a scandalous life and had numerous lovers. She even made it into a Cole Porter song. But in 1943 she fell 40 feet down an elevator shaft. Although she recovered, she permanently lost her sense of smell. She and the Duke of Argyll lived in beautiful Inverara Castle (where some Downton Abbey scenes were filmed). Alas, in 1954, her jewelry was stolen by cat burglars and never recovered. Eventually the Duke divorced her for infidelity (he was no peach, either). Once at the top of society, she died in a nursing home in 1992.

Lots of good stories could be spun from these little episodes, but they all seem to carry the same message: “wealth does not guarantee happiness.”

“Swing for the Fences”

Posted on by
George Saunders,

Having a Marie Kondo moment, I’ve been clearing out old magazines, giving one last nostalgic look-through. We’re talking copies of Gourmet that go back over 50 years (before food processors, anyway), a magazine that ceased publication 16 years ago. There’s a stab of pleasure in seeing my notes written alongside recipes I cannot recall ever preparing (“good!” “this process works!” “too salty” “not as good as it should have been”).

I have a long shelf full of the short story magazine Glimmer Train too (1990-2019). At one point, every quarterly issue. It was hard to get through them, and I tended to read the stories and skip the interviews. I wasn’t writing my own fiction then, so they didn’t necessarily land with me. Now they do.

Winter 2015, the interview was with the wonderful George Saunders, lecturer and author, who won the Man Booker Prize for Lincoln in the Bardo, and wrote the absolutely-worth-reading-again A Swim in A Pond in the Rain, which dissects short stories of four Russian masters and why they work.

Glimmer Train interviewer David Naimon asked Saunders how he achieves his remarkable fictional “voice.” It was hard, Saunders answered, until he decided to loosen up and “just be funny, a little pop culture-ish, to be sci-fi.” While the stories may be dark, he’s trying to put his fictional world into some extreme circumstance “where things are going really badly, and then just see how people behave.” Not that well, as you’d guess.

His stories are infused with verbal energy, pizzazz. If you’ve read Bardo, you’ll remember how the multiple conversations among the dead are lively and often hilarious. It’s a performance, and a high-wire one at that. He believes that resorting to “extraordinary means” of entertainment are necessary to get readers beyond the surface, down to some truth about life.

There are certainly tropes in every genre—romance, mystery, etc. Some readers may find them comforting—they know how a story is likely to develop (and end); others grow to find them boring. For my taste, the domestic thriller/untrustworthy spouse tropes have become tired, as has the “collection of old friends who meet up in a place where they are cut off by weather or whatever, secrets come out, and people start dying.”

Saunders is often accused of being experimental, which we can think of as “not ordinary and trope-stuffed,” and he cites his teacher Tobias Wolfe as believing “all good writing is experimental, because, if not, why would you do it? If you aren’t venturing into something new, why bother?”

In other words, a good writer would not ride the trends, attempting to suss out the “next big thing” that will be the key to getting published. (Teenage vampires—I’ll do that!) These days, the chances are so low that a new writer or even a mid-list writer will get or keep a major publisher, and so low that a self-published book will become a best-seller, why not just swing for the fences? Figure out what you’re good at, says Saunders, whether it’s creating physical detail, plotting, creating characters, or whatever you do that has some energy behind it and play to your strength

Every Word’s a Choice – Part 3 — Verbs Do the Heavy Lifting

Posted on by

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

The Seventh Floor

Posted on by

Third in former CIA analyst David McCloskey’s riveting series of espionage thrillers, The Seventh Floor will grab your attention and hang onto it until the last page. Not only is the story a hair-raising exploration of international misdeeds, its underlying theme is how loyalty to friends, family, and country is tested.

In the book’s opening pages, two of the CIA’s Russian sources are dead. One had a message vital for the CIA, which he was to convey to American CIA officer Sam Joseph. Now Sam’s gone missing. The story’s protagonist is Sam’s boss and mentor Artemis Aphrodite Procter. Hard-nosed, hard-drinking, and profane, she heads the CIA unit Moscow X, a covert action program targeting Putin and his cronies,

Her unusual name was carefully crafted: Artemis (huntress) Aphrodite (love) and Procter (so similar to Proctor, someone who oversees students). The best expression of her hunting and caring sides is the row of nine stars tattooed between her shoulder blades, each representing one of her agents whose murder she’s avenged. (At CIA headquarters, in real life, a star is carved into a memorial wall for each agency officer killed in the line of duty. There are 140 of these stars, and the officers’ names are listed in an accompanying book. The names of 34 of them remain secret.)

A new CIA Director, Finn Gosford and his new staff occupy the agency’s seventh floor. He and his number two, Deborah Sweet, know Artemis and her best mates—Mac, Theo, and Gus—from their earliest days of training. Artemis and her colleagues have pegged Finn and Debs as true second-raters, and Finn and Debs hate them for it. The agency’s chief mole-hunter, named Petra, suspects this cluster of disasters may not be coincidental, but Finn and Debs refuse to investigate.

After several months of brutal interrogation and psychological torture, Sam Joseph is swapped for a Russian agent. He comes home to a very different organization. Petra and Artemis have been fired. And, in one of the most unexpected career turnarounds imaginable, she now works at a Florida alligator-themed amusement park. McCloskey is equally deft at conjuring a toxic workplace atmosphere, a dank underground cell in Moscow, and Artemis’s unsavory alligator-related tasks.

Sam visits Artemis in Florida and tells her what no one else knows. There is indeed a mole in CIA, but Sam’s Russian contact was assassinated before he could give pass on the name. With meticulous attention to tradecraft, Sam and Artemis develop a plan to identify the traitor. Risky, yeah. Worse, too close to Artemis’s inner circle.

While this action-packed story carries you along on a tidal wave of suspense, McCloskey makes his characters’ actions and choices totally plausible. Like real people, they have flaws and heroism, they’re capable of demonstrating loyalty and hiding betrayal.

This is a really good one!

The HEAT is On!

Posted on by

Last month at the annual conference of the Public Safety Writers Association, which comprises police, fire, federal law enforcement, emergency services and other professionals—mostly retired, because when else would they have the time and energy—and people like me who write about them. I’m on the Board of the organization because I do the newsletter.

The conference itself was preceded by a day-long workshop on the craft and business side of writing. Treasurer Kelli Peacock gave a nice presentation on subplots.

I liked the way she explained it, and will admit to not necessarily planning particular subplots, but ending up with them anyway. Kelli said that, just as in real life, the characters in our stories—even short stories—generally have a lot going on in their lives. Subplots complicate their lives and your store and put situational pressure on a character.

As an example, she cited the movie Titanic, where the doomed romance between wealthy Rose (Kate Winslet) and steerage passenger Jack (Leonardo DiCaprio) was the main plot, but the subplot revolved around the class differences aboard ship, which created extra situational pressure. A good subplot is “always in the room,” even when characters are doing and talking about something else. SA Cosby’s wonderful novel Razorblade Tears is always about interracial relations, even when Ike Randolph and Buddy Lee are busy tracking down their sons’ killers.

In that way, subplot is similar to subtext, which is what is really being said. I had a friend whose mother was super-critical and always hated whatever she wore. One say, her mom looked her up and down and said, “Now that’s a nice outfit!” No simple compliment, that, but rather a critique of every other outfit she’d ever worn. Subtext can be subtle (unlike my friend’s mom), but subplot involves obvious thought and and action by the story’s characters.

While subplots can meander along, seemingly unconnected to the main story, often they eventually converge to muddy up the main action, or somehow reinforce the theme of the main story. To me, there’s a big difference between plot (what happens in a story) and theme (what it means). If you’re puzzled about what the significance of a story is, the subplot may reveal it. There’s the famous dictum by E.M. Forster that a plot is a narrative of events that emphasizes causality, whereas a story is just the sequence of events. I and others believe he got it exactly backwards. A plot is merely a sequence of events; a story contains the understanding of those events. Subplots and subtext, then, are powerful contributors to story.

Kelli advises wrapping up the subplot after the drama of the main plot is resolved, to give readers “a place to collect themselves after the emotional high of the climax and to savor the fact that order has been restored.” Resolution of the subplot is an extra treat, she says.

Subplots must have been on the conference-goers minds as a result, because twice someone mentioned what a great movie Heat was for subplots. (That’s the Michael Mann film starring Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, and the late Val Kilmer and Tom Sizemore, and many other.)

Coincidentally, our local movie theater was playing it last night, and I went. And, yes, it was full of subplots–the personal lives of the gangsters and the principal cop that run in parallel with the criminal activities and the revenge the gangsters take for stuff that went badly wrong, which are corollary to the main plot. All these story lines enrich what would have otherwise been a rather typical heist film and make the audience (me, at least) root for both sides. See it if you can.

Further Reading
The Art of Subtext: Beyond Plot by Charles Baxter. Highly recommended.

“A Visit to the Lucentini Museum of Curiosities”

Posted on by

Now here’s a trip to a museum that didn’t turn out as expected! “A Visit to the Lucentini Museum of Curiosities” was published in the latest issue of the antholozine Soul Scream: Fear and Loathing, edited by Christopher Ryan. In it, you find out about a mysterious lower west side Manhattan museum that no one wants to talk about–and why.

Horror is not a genre I usually read, so I was surprised to find that some of the stories in this issue could certainly fit in the best crime publications, and the futuristic take of some other tales made them good candidates for the sci-fi category. My story, about a young couple’s ill-fated museum visit, leads off the collection, and I’m pleased to be included with authors who have such rich imaginations!

While most of the stories are definitely inspired by troubling aspects of our current political moment, some focus a little more broadly on the fundamental dilemmas of being human. Stressful times just make those dilemmas worse. To his great credit, Ryan included work from seasoned writers as well as talented high school students. What a thrill it must be for them to see their words in such an impressive collection! (I remember the shock when I sold my first short story. I cried.) Some collection highlights for me, out of many:

“School’s Out for Summer” by Wendy Maxon – a roller coaster operator relies on the technology to operate his coaster, but when it fails, what will he do about all those people hanging upside down? This story reminded me of people who use GPS to get to jobs they’ve held for years . . .

“Anguish Art Showcase” by Rebecca Cuthbert – expresses everything I hate about reality television, taken to its extreme.

“Jim Crow: 2028” by Steven Van Patten – although the story has a lot of “message,” the author was so skilled at building tension, I had to take a couple of breaks when reading it!

“Final Advice” by Charles Barouch – though times are desperate and uncertain, there’s still room for a hero.

Each story or poem is followed by a short commentary from Soul Scream staff along with a few questions to the author about the work’s origins and development. This was fun company to be in!

Order it here from Amazon!

Every Word’s a Choice — Part 2 — Nouns Name the World

Posted on by

To get the most out of this series of posts on ways for writers to “find the best words,” you may want to give a read to Eric Bogle’s bush ballad, “The Band Played Waltzing Matilda.” The first four verses illustrate many points I’ll be making. Many versions of the song are on YouTube, but reading it is probably best at first, because it’s free of the singer’s interpretation. It’s just you and the words. Like your readers and your words.

Once you’ve read it, I hope you agree the songwriter chose words that effectively create a moving lyric. It’s full of descriptive language. Which individual words strike you? Here are two that particularly strike me:

  • “tin hat”—doesn’t sound like it would give much protection does it? To me, “tin hat” immediately conjures an image like that above. Vulnerability.
  • how about “corpses”? Most times we’d say “bodies” here, but corpses is so much more powerful. We all have a body, we think of our bodies, we don’t think of ourselves as a “corpse.”

Nouns Name the World

Chances are, some of the words you picked out from the song are powerful nouns. Picking the right noun is the first step in establishing a relationship with your readers. Think back to how nouns were described in elementary school: Nouns NAME THINGS. The right noun tells readers what you’re talking about.

You probably recognize “Waltzing Matilda”—it’s called the “unofficial national anthem of Australia.” But do you know what “Waltzing Matilda” actually means? It isn’t a ballroom dance. In Australian slang, “waltzing” means traveling on foot. Americans use “waltz” to signal an easy accomplishment, often one a person is rather smug about: You might write,

“The detective waltzed into the squad room, grinning. ‘I solved the case!’”

What about “Matilda”? – Not a girlfriend. A Matilda is a backpack and sleeping gear. So to go “waltzing Matilda” is to hike the country carrying your possessions with you.

We know what the “outback” is—thank you, Outback Steak House. What about Murray’s green basin? The Murray is Australia’s longest river. Since so much of the country is desert or semi-arid, the green along the river is precious. The Circular Quay, near the end of the song, is Sydney Harbor.

Now that we’re oriented, let’s examine some of the other things its nouns do. A number of words here serve as touchstones—or anchors—for the reader—particularly for an Australian hearer, but for anyone who knows a little history. Touchstones bring you and your reader onto the same page. They build rapport between you. They let you inside their heads, linking your story to things they already know and have feelings about.

Two of those touchstones provide the first signal of what’s coming: 1915, Gallipoli. Most people born in the 20th Century will know instantly the song is about World War I, even if Eric Bogle hadn’t then written “marched me away to the war.” The instant the verse lands on “Gallipoli,” we know tragedy looms. (And notice where this ominous word is strategically placed—at the end of the line for maximum impact.)

But even if you’ve forgotten that terrible battle, plenty of details fill you in. The songwriter pulls you in deep with “Johnny Turk was ready.” This reference is a little more esoteric, unless you’re a history buff. The ill-prepared Australian troops were ordered to march ashore with virtually no covering fire because their officers were overconfident. Plus their maps were wrong. Plus their intelligence was bad. They simply believed the Turks were no match for troops with British leadership. They believed the Turks would NOT be ready, but it was the British who weren’t prepared. So, that line is a little jab at the Brits.

In our song, many of the specific geographic touchstones—the outback, Murray’s green basin, Circular Quay—are well-known to Australian hearers. Eric Bogle could use them because he knew his hearers would understand what they were—and what they stood for.

Americans have significant touchstones too. If we mention any of them, we’re likely to evoke a particular feeling. We don’t need a lengthy explanation of certain times (9/11, D-Day), places (Pearl Harbor, Selma), events (the Kennedy assassination, Hurricane Katrina), mindsets (The Depression) or geography (The West, Martha’s Vineyard). You can make a connection with most Americans with just those words.

Obviously, you have to be judicious. You don’t want to evoke the wrong thing. Referring to Ruby Ridge could pull up a range of feelings. Readers might also have unpredictable reactions to Waco, Watts, Chicago 1968.

Do you use touchstones in your writing? Could you? In her book The Final Episode, Lori Roy uses a fictional touchstone to anchor her story: the kidnapping of a young girl twenty years earlier. Everyone in the book knows and remembers the details of the crime and has had their lives altered because of it.

I’d be interested in knowing what touchstones you may have used.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. Find it here:https://vweisfeld.com/?p=11484