Photo © 2009 Sam Davis CC BY-ND 2.0

If you read a lot, you’ve probably read at least one author you admire. Her words seem to flow through your heart like a river. And ever since you’ve been putting together your own sentences on paper, you’ve perhaps wished that you could work literary magic as she. You may not realize, much of the magic you’re seeking comes from basic principles of writing and editing, principles of style.

When I first discovered these principles, in Patricia T. O’Connor’s book Words Fail Me, they instantly transformed my writing from worse-even-than-Twilight to passably readable. Later, other writers referred me to Strunk & White’s Elements of Style. Both of these I’ve found invaluable parts of my writing library, and every writer ought to internalize the principles therein.

So how do you punch up your prose? Here are 10 simple steps you can take that will instantly improve your style, highlight your point, impress your readers, attract the opposite sex, and make you better in bed. Well, maybe not those last two. (Although… Who knows?)

1. Get rid of the verb to be. Strengthening your verbs is the most important thing you can do to punch up your prose. That is, put as much of the meaning as you can into the verb, and not into words surrounding the verb. But “being” verbs, like am, is, was, and are, are the weakest verbs of all. They contain so little meaning that some languages omit them altogether. So wherever you have the verb to be, see if you can rephrase to show instead of tell.

   Example: “The classroom was small.” ➔ “We squeezed into the classroom.”

2. Change the passive voice into the active. A variation on #1 above, a passive-voice sentence has the action of the sentence happening to the subject. With the active voice, on the other hand, the subject of the sentence is doing the action. Active voice has more power, so prefer it.

   Example: “I was invited to go along on the trip.” ➔ “Mike invited me to go along on the trip.”

3. Turn adverbs into better verbs, adjectives into better nouns. Adverbs usually try to make up for deficiencies in your verb, so see if you can replace it with a verb that contains in itself the force of the adverb. Similarly, adjectives often try to make up for deficiencies in a noun, so see if you can find a better noun, one that won’t require an adjective.

   Example: “She shouted at me angrily.” ➔ “She raged at me.”

4. Use simple words. Some writers try to make up for having nothing worthwhile to say by saying it with pomp. They think that if they use enough syllables, it’ll make them sound important. Don’t do that. Short words can be powerful, too. And you’ll make a stronger impression if you don’t require your readers to get out their dictionary twice a page. Put away the thesaurus, if you need to. Especially, get rid of nominalized verbs, those nouns that really identify the action of the sentence.

   Example: “We utilized measurements that had been made, of certain thermodynamic properties of the test sample.” ➔ “We measured the test sample’s temperature and pressure.”

   Another example: “Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat.” ➔ “As we talked, I kept glancing over at the strange family.” (Your eyes flickered, Gracie?)

5. Say what you mean, and mean what you say. Be specific. Vagueness is for politicians. No one should ever need to doubt “what the definition of is is.” (Because you shouldn’t be using the word is, anyhow.) Again, look for vague, broad statements, and see if you can rewrite to give specifics, or at least specific examples, that will show rather than tell.

   Example: “Some opposition figures also questioned the government’s sincerity.” ➔ “Joe Schmo, former opposition leader, said he suspected the current regime of making unreasonable demands, knowing they would undermine the negotiations, leaving power in the status quo.”

6. Delete unneeded words. Add information with each phrase and sentence; don’t just repeat yourself for effect. Remove prepositional phrases and other modifiers that repeat information given in the verb.

   Example: “As I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face — it was hostile, furious.” ➔ “As I passed, he stiffened in his seat, staring fury into my eyes.”

7. Move verbs closer to their subjects. Sometimes, writers get carried away inserting phrases into the middle of a sentence. But in general, you should keep related concepts together, and unrelated concepts apart. That means that the verb should be close to its subject, and modifiers should be close to the words they modify.

   Example: “All copyrighted and copyrightable materials, including but not limited to the text, design, manuals, product information, graphics, images, pictures, sound and other files, and the selection and arrangement thereof are copyrighted, all rights reserved, by Provider or its licensors.” ➔ “Provider has reserved all copyrights in all copyrightable materials, including blah blah blah.”

8. Transform negative sentences into positive ones. You can use the word not to deny a falsehood or to contrast another statement. But don’t use it to evade saying what you want to say. (This is especially important for new parents to remember.)

   Example: “Don’t eat the crayons!” ➔ “Crayons are for coloring books; food is for eating.”

9. Split up long sentences and phrases. Don’t get the wrong idea: shorter sentences are not necessarily better than longer ones. You should vary the length of your sentences, long and short. The danger is that you may end up mixing unrelated ideas into the same sentence or phrase. If you have a long sentence, see if you should split up ideas into multiple phrases, to keep atomic ideas intact.

   Example: “The User’s personal information shall be subject to the Company Privacy Policy, as it may be changed, updated or amended by the Company from time to time, which policy is hereby incorporated as a part of this Agreement.” ➔ “The User’s personal information shall be subject to the Company Privacy Policy. That policy is hereby incorporated as a part of this Agreement. Further, the Company may update it from time to time, and the latest version of the policy will be in force at any given time.” (Note also “changed, updated or amended,” and compare #6 above on unneeded words.)

10. Move the punchline to the end of the sentence. The “punchline” is usually the new information in the sentence, like the punchline of a joke. It’s the part you wouldn’t have guessed by yourself. And the end of the sentence is usually the most prominent place, like the throne in the throne room, so whatever you put there will naturally get the spotlight. That’s why the punchline of a joke goes at the end and not in the middle. Consider whether the emphasis is where it ought to be.

    Example: “We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating.” ➔ “As we resumed eating, we lapsed into silence.” (The silence is what makes a difference in the story. Nobody really cares that the characters were eating.)

You may have noticed, I pulled a number of examples from Twilight, a book that I love to take pot shots at, because it presents such a huge target. Other examples I pulled from a news report, my own memory and creativity, and legal agreements— again, because they present such a huge target. Yes, maybe some lawyers are scared of drafting legal agreements that the parties to the agreement might actually be able to understand, and if your lawyer is of that sort, you have my pity, but I’m still not offering you legal advice, because I’m not a lawyer. I’m just a writer. As a writer, I could have pulled examples from my own early-early writings. Fortunately, most of them have slipped into the dustbowl of time.

May your journey to writing competence be less bumpy than mine.

Keep writing!
-TimK

© 2008 Simon Kisner CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Recently, I joked on my personal blog about how (not) to revise your novel, a trying process involving sweat, tears, and numerous trips to the office supply store. And all just so that you can see, in black and white, how crappy a writer you really are.

But seriously, revising a novel is a lot of hard work. And in your first draft, you probably did do a crappy job, because that’s what revision is for, to un-crap-ify it. You’re basically trying to fix everything you goofed on while you were writing your first draft. Melding all those multiple character personalities into one; pruning all those lost plot threads that go nowhere; unifying the story’s theme.

For From the Ashes of Courage, I used Holly Lisle’s one-pass manuscript revision process, exactly as she describes it. I’ve always used a variation of this process, going from first to final draft in one pass (more or less), but this is the first time I’ve done everything she recommends, exactly as she recommends it. I found it workable, and even enjoyable. In particular, her advice to write down the main theme and sub-themes of the story, before you start revising, I found that to be invaluable.

Even though it was fun to work on paper, I don’t think it was really necessary—for me—to print out the manuscript, as she recommends, because I didn’t really make any changes that wouldn’t have been easier right on the computer. This may have something to do with how I write. Unlike Holly, for example, I do not tend to throw in new plot ideas while I’m writing my first draft. I would more likely do that while I’m writing my zero-draft. And because the first draft is a rewrite of the zero-draft, the plot holes that result usually don’t make it into the first draft. Likewise, I didn’t have many scenes that I had to throw away. (There was exactly one, and I know how it got in there in the first place, and it’s now less likely that a similar scene would make it into a future first draft.) Yes, there were lots of plot points, scenes, partial scenes, and so forth that I moved around, recast, and threw away, but they were all in the zero-draft, and I made those changes while I was writing the first draft. That probably made the revision process much less intense than it otherwise would have been.

Even so, I ended up—and I should have done this a long time ago—compiling a revision checklist, all the things that I was checking for. In software-development terms, these are my acceptance tests. These are how I know I’ve done my job correctly, or how I know what’s wrong with my story. If any of these tests fail, it indicates that I need to fix something wrong in the manuscript.

I will no doubt add to this list in the future. For now, here’s my revision checklist:

Style

• Words are spelled correctly.
• Grammar is consistent (tense, voice, etc.), or else there’s a good reason for any inconsistency.
• Prose uses the most powerful verbs and nouns available. Convert adverbs into verbs, if possible, and adjectives into nouns.
• Descriptive passages refer to as many of the five senses as possible.
• All dialogue, narrative, and description ping-pongs (is written in MRU’s).
• All sentences are clear and unambiguous.
• Every word and phrase adds meaning. Remove all excess words and phrases.
• Redundancy has been limited. Be wary of repeating the same information (e.g. character descriptions), especially using the same or similar words.
• Information is consistent throughout. No part of the manuscript contradicts information given elsewhere (except via multiple characters or multiple, unreliable narrators).
• Context switches proceed smoothly and naturally. If using a POV with multiple simultaneous viewpoint characters, make sure the narrative anticipates all context switches.
• There are no clichés.
• All passages engage the reader. Be wary of passages that makes you want to skim or fall asleep.

Scene

• Each scene helps build at least one of the story’s themes.
• Each scene develops at least one character.
• Each scene contains action, dialogue, setting, and description.
• Each scene moves the story forward.
• In each scene, something changes.
• Each scene is a story in miniature, with conflict and resolution, a beginning and an end.

Plot

• Each plot element fits the story and impacts the main story line (directly or indirectly).
• Each story thread goes somewhere.
• Each event proceeds naturally from the previous and leads naturally into the next.
• Each plot element melds smoothly with all others. Check for plot holes.
• Every implication of each plot element goes somewhere or is sufficiently explained away. Check especially for obvious outs, paths that if taken would make the conflict moot.
• Each plot elements fits chronologically into the story. Watch out for characters, for example, who could not possibly be at the stated place at the stated time (unless they have a matter-energy transporter).
• Each story thread has a beginning, a middle, and a satisfactory ending. Tie up loose ends (unless you’re intentionally leaving them there for a sequel).

Character

• Every character impacts the plot in some way.
• No character serves a purpose that another character could serve.
• Each conflict produces reaction in each viewpoint character involved in the conflict, or a reason why it doesn’t matter to him.
• Each reaction by a viewpoint character has a result that affects the character and his story, or a reason why no result is forthcoming.
• Each character change has a character reaction causing it, and a conflict that prompts that character reaction.
• Each character reaction is proportional to the conflict the character faces, in terms of his evident personality.
• A character’s quirks are consistent throughout the story (unless they change due to a bona fide character change). If a character wears glasses in the beginning, make sure he’s still wearing them at the end; if he sucks his teeth in scene 27, make sure he’s been doing so since the beginning; etc.
• The reader can understand each reaction by a viewpoint character. (Non-viewpoint character reactions don’t necessarily need to make sense to the reader, as long as they make sense to you, the author.)

-TimK

Some of these lessons I learned from my own editing experience. Others are classic truths of which I was merely reminded, and with which I know other writers wrestle regularly. We each have our own hurdles to jump over. Still you might encounter–or perhaps you are encountering–one of these.

Be prepared with these 7 lessons learned from editing a first novel:

1. It will take 5 times as long as you think it will. When you estimate how long and hard you’ll need to work, start with however long you think it will take, and multiply times 5. If you think you can get through it in a couple weeks, estimate about 2 and a half months. Unless you have actually edited a novel-length work and have measured how long it takes you to get through, assume you’re going to underestimate by half an order of magnitude.

   And don’t give any excuses. “But I’m not like most writers. I like editing.” So you’ve already assumed it’s easy. It’s not. Multiply by 5. “But I’m using Holly Lisle’s One-Pass Manuscript Revision process.” Good for you! It will take you only a fraction of the time it takes everyone else… which is still 5 times longer than you think it will take. “But–” Hey! What did I say? Multiply by 5.

2. “But I edit as I go along.” So you’ve convinced yourself that your novel will need no substantive editing, just line editing. At most, you’ll need to fix only a few typos. And indeed you will find those typos, and you should fix those typos. You will also find huge problems with your prose, your characters, your descriptions, your story lines, and everything else, problems that will make your manuscript read like crap. And this is the time and place to fix them. If you think that editing as you go will save you from revising your manuscript, figure out how long you think it will take, then multiply by 5 as above, and then multiply by 5 again.

3. Your life may change while you’re editing your novel. Because you’ll be dedicating yourself to an activity you’re not used to. Writing uses primarily your right brain, whereas editing uses primarily your left brain. Even if you’ve exercised and stretched both halves of your brain, so that you can use them both and switch back and forth as need be, prolonged editing will still feel much different than prolonged writing. I experienced mood changes, lack of creativity, and lack of motivation. Afterward, I experienced a sudden renewed interest in the next phase of the project. Since the format of Abe’s Turn is chunked into novelette-sized stories, I’m considering moving to a rotating write/edit schedule with other writing work thrown in for spice, to keep myself from losing interest and falling asleep.

4. It gets better as you go along. You’ll probably find that the first chapter needs to be heavily tweaked, revised, rewritten, recast, redone from scratch. But the last chapters are possibly fine as is, maybe with a few spelling and grammar errors fixed. What I found is that I had actually become a better writer and much more in-sync with the story, as the story progressed. So by the end, I had perfected the voice I wanted to use, the tone of the piece, the plot, the characters, everything. The beginning chapters had serious problems, on almost every page. But in the latter chapters, sometime whole scenes were absolutely wonderful just as I had originally written them. Maybe I needed to clarify a vague sentence here, or correct a misused word there. But that was it.

5. It’s okay to finish. Really, it is. It’s okay, even though that means you’ll be done, committed, revealed and open to ridicule. Even though you won’t be able to make any more changes. Even though everyone will see what you’ve produced. Even though most of those who read it will probably hate it (because what you’ve written is worth writing). Even though most of those who hate it will tell you they loved it (because they don’t want to hurt your feelings). It’s still okay to finish, because that’s what you came all this way for, and you’ll never actually get it published unless you do finish it.

6. It will never be right. Or at least, it will never be as good as you want it. You will never be done wanting to make changes. Want proof? Go to Amazon.com, or walk into your local Barnes & Noble, and check out the top sellers du jour. Crack one open and start reading. Odds are that within the first 5 pages, you’ll find at least one thing you’d change. Let it go. Even after you’re done, you will feel like you want to tweak it some more. Don’t. Let your editor take a shot at it, yes. But don’t keep going back and tweaking it, or else you’ll never finish it. And remember that it won’t be as bad as you think, because readers who love your work will love it despite its flaws, and people (probably non-readers) who hate it will hate it despite its perfection. If you want proof, look no further than Harry Potter.

7. The last push through to the end is probably the hardest part about writing. I’m not quite sure why this is. Maybe it’s because when you first start, it’s all new and exciting, and as you near the finish line, your left brain gets tired out. Maybe it’s because of that fear of finishing, fear of commitment, or fear of success. Or maybe it won’t happen at all for you. But it did for me. The closer I got to the end, the harder it was to continue. Some things I found that helped: setting daily editing goals, loads of self-encouragement, and frequent breaks.

Maybe it’s just my imagination, but the editing phase of the writing process seems to get the short end of the stick. There is plenty of advice on how to write, how to write better, and how to write faster. But few articles I’ve read are about what to do after you’ve written your first draft. It may not be sexy or glamorous, but editing is a key phase of writing. And it can be difficult, depending on how good you are at it. And I don’t think you can completely off-load the editing phase onto a paid editor, because your editor doesn’t share your vision of your story, and it is your story. Maybe he can correct your grammar and offer suggestions for improvement, but only you can know whether it’s “right.” So you have to be the final arbiter, the final editor.

Keep writing!
-TimK