The eightfold way revisited, part one…
[I wrote this quite a while ago and have repeated it a few times in this blog. It made the rounds on other blogs somewhere in the past. Why does this zombie rise again out of its grave to persecute you, dear reader? Because I still think it’s good advice about what NOT to do when writing a novel, so I’ve updated that advice a bit and repeated it here yet again. If you’ve been a fan of this blog for a long time, and you’re tired of seeing this, just skip today’s post.]
The media once was fixated on spontaneous symmetry breaking and the Higgs boson (the so-called “God particle,” a name that would surely make Mr. Higgs cringe). The Higgs mechanism (i.e. the spontaneous symmetry breaking) is necessary to give mass to some of the vector bosons in the electroweak or weak and electromagnetic interaction theory. (Can there be more than one God particle? Interesting question!) Forgotten in all this media hoopla is the theory that led to the idea of quarks and gluons, the Eightfold Way of symmetries popularized by Professor Gell-Mann. (Note that I refrain from using the term “discovered.” In theoretical physics, the math is “out there.” You just have to figure out what math matches up to experimental data (not a trivial task by any means). Experimental physics is where “discoveries” are made.) Here’s the update: I’ll concede that maybe the Higgs boson has been found. Now the uproar’s all about whether dark matter and energy exists. (I reviewed a book on Bookpleasures about those two phantasms; the answer is: not yet!)
Now that I’ve had some fun imagining your eyes glazing over as if you’d just had tequila mixed with sleeping pills (not recommended, by the way) while puffing on a few joints (if it’s legal where you are), let me say that this post is not about physics. (My eyes are glazed too, because the above is hardcore physics, and I’ve been sipping my Jameson’s while writing the sequel to Rembrandt’s Angel like a madman.) The Eightfold Way I consider here is the shining path that leads you to a finished novel that someone might want to read. It’s my distillation of rules for writing a novel—a distillation that is not the quality of a fine thrice-distilled Irish whiskey, but I’ve put some thought to it and would like to share (I’d like to share the Jameson’s too, but the internet hasn’t discovered e-drinking yet).
What are the rules for successful novel writing? (Note that the bar for “successful” is low here and is defined as producing a manuscript that someone might want to consider for publishing—of course, that someone might be you if you’re indie.) There are many rules, and everybody has his or her own list. All writers are not equal—what works for one might not for the other. Moreover, since I’m not David Baldacci or Stephen King, you might think that I’m being a bit presumptuous—I am not a successful novelist. I might be considered prolific, but, by my own standards, I’m not successful (in the more general sense)—I would certainly like to have more readers. Nevertheless, I’m an avid reader. Since I’m also a novelist, when I read a novel, I read with a critical eye, especially in my capacity as a reviewer (that’s usually two reads, the first as a casual reader, the second as a reviewer—the two hats are different, of course). Readers rule, especially nowadays when there’s a plethora of novels available just waiting to be read. My Eightfold Way is reader-oriented. It’s a list of DON’Ts if the writer wants to keep his readers happy. Are you ready?
(1) Don’t just write about what you know. In fact, the adage “Write about what you know” is completely off base. I don’t know who said it initially, but he or she clearly wanted to eliminate the competition. Here’s the scoop: If you have no imagination, you shouldn’t be a novelist. I’m not just talking about sci-fi, either, where this rule is obvious. If you’re writing a romance novel about vampire love or a thriller about finding a serial killer, I bet you have no direct experience in either (not $10k—how about one of my eBooks?). Your imagination has to rule your writing. Moreover, what you imagine has to be put into words that move and still make sense to the reader.
(2) Don’t confuse your readers on time, place, or point-of-view (POV). The action in my novel The Midas Bomb, for example, covers only a week. (That’s the first novel in the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco Series.”) I had the timeline laid out, of course, but I soon realized that the reader could be confused by the rapid succession of events, especially since flashbacks are mixed in. Consequently, the day and time are a subheading to each chapter. (One reviewer expressed appreciation for this, so I know I made the right choice.)
For POV, I’m not a purist. Switches within a chapter are OK as long as they’re clear—for example, at the beginning of a new chapter section. However, it’s a little weird when Susie knows what Bob is thinking, unless Susie is a mind reader. Bottom line here: don’t make your reader say, “Huh?”
(3) Don’t write overly explicit and excessive character description. I hate it as a reviewer; I avoid it like the plague as a novelist. Leave something for the reader’s imagination. If you’re too excessive, you might contradict the image your readers already have in their minds. Your character might have a dragon tattoo, but it’s unimportant to the reader if it’s unimportant to the plot. Minimalist writing should be your goal. Of course, you have to be clever enough to provide some logical but misleading clues in a mystery, for example, or the reader will have no fun. The key to description is that old slutty Goldilocks—you want just enough, no more, no less.
(4) Don’t be verbose or erudite, especially in dialog. Many experts call Herman Melville’s Moby Dick the greatest American novel. I don’t think so. (It’s almost blasphemy to say there’s only one, but Moby ain’t it.) It’s number two on my list of “worst books in the English language,” primarily because it’s an overly detailed manual on how to turn whale’s blubber into lamp oil. If anything, Greenpeace should ban it. In fact, most of the books in my list suffer from verbosity and eruditeness. One reader talked about the pages and pages in Giants of the Earth describing the motion of grass (maybe that’s where the phrase “boring as watching grass grow” came from?). The 70+ page speech in Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged is another turn-off. The pages and pages of description of sea flora and fauna in 20,000 Leagues under the Sea is yet another. You get the idea.
I reviewed a book once where the author obeyed his grammar checker to the nth degree and omitted all contractions in his dialog. Oops! Contractions are an important part of natural dialog; the latter should always reflect everyday speech. Anything else sounds pompous. Of course, you might want your character to sound pompous, but handle that with care. Street jive is the other extreme, of course. The trick is to entertain your readers, not bore them or annoy them.
To me, verbosity also includes an overuse of adjectives and adverbs. That’s the minimalist thing again. Consider: “You’re a cad!” she said angrily. The “angrily” is unnecessary as are most variants of “said.” These latter are wraith-like words that a speed-reader passes over. Of course, artistic license allows you to spring a surprise. Consider: “You’re a cad!” she said with a wink. Now the adverbial phrase “with a wink” expresses possible flirting instead of the obvious anger. It’s no longer superfluous.
[I’ll continue with this on Thursday….]
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“Writing Fiction.” Believe it or not, this long article and many other things are covered in my little course. It’s meant to complement Stephen King’s On Writing (the writing part, not the memoir part). It’s also free; King’s book is not. See my web page “Free Stuff & Contests” for download instructions. While you’re there, also check out the list of free fiction that’s available for download. Some things in life are free. (OK, you’ll need a few mouse clicks.)
In libris libertas….
