Imagery in Writing

[Rigor Mortis]

But sometimes detailed descriptions rock! Then, the language itself must carry you away.

Sure, you can talk about how beautiful the mountains were while lit by the setting sun. But more 1 paragraph and I am out.

Sure, I get what you're both saying here. An author can make you see every bulb of glistening condensation or just mention humidity. I lean towards reading the former but with different moods I choose different reading materials. That's not quite what I'm talking about, though.

Anyone who starts writing will soon be pointed at "show, don't tell" and eliminate adverbs. The two conventions, essentially, amount to the same thing, and that's making the reading an increasingly passive exercise. You can write that your characters happily skip down the road and reviewers will tell you that happily is unnecessary because skipping down the road implies happiness. It's not that there's too many words slowing the action, it's that the reader becomes tramlined into one, and one only, interpretation of what going on with no need for any cognitive input from the reader. What if the character morosely skips down the road? Same number of words but needs a bit more working out, making the reader active and furthering engagement.

I gotta go now for a little while but would be interested to hear others' views.

 

[Banespawn]

Anyone who starts writing will soon be pointed at "show, don't tell" and eliminate adverbs. The two conventions, essentially, amount to the same thing, and that's making the reading an increasingly passive exercise.

This is entirely backwards.

When you show, you are giving the reader clues and forcing them to determine what those clues mean. It's anything but passive. Telling is passive. You're giving the reader the conclusion. There's nothing for them to do.

The advice against adverbs is really advice for using better verbs. You can still use adverbs when needed, but if your verbs are lame, your writing will be lame, no matter how many adverbs you use to dress it up.

 

[Rigor Mortis]

This is entirely backwards.

When you show, you are giving the reader clues and forcing them to determine what those clues mean. It's anything but passive. Telling is passive. You're giving the reader the conclusion. There's nothing for them to do.

That's what I meant. The purpose of the advice is to avoid making the reader passive. I might be missing a couple of those small words to make it clearer.

The advice against adverbs is really advice for using better verbs. You can still use adverbs when needed, but if your verbs are lame, your writing will be lame, no matter how many adverbs you use to dress it up.

Yes. That's the advice. Why? (there can be more than one co-existing reason)

 

[Banespawn]

Yes. That's the advice. Why? (there can be more than one co-existing reason)

Because stronger verbs are generally more concise and more precise. Take your earlier example of skipping. It's a single verb that tells the reader exactly what the character is doing. It is very easy to imagine. If you wanted to describe that action without using that verb, it would be a lot more difficult to do. Walked happily doesn't cut it. Skipped happily is redundant. Skipped implies happy, and the reader therefore has to infer that. It's really just another aspect of show vs tell. If you write "skipped happily" then you are both showing and telling.

Again, that's not to say that you should never use an adverb. Sometimes there's no other way to get your meaning across. But new writers tend to use them in excess, pairing them with weak verbs. New writers tend to use an excessive number of "to be" verbs. New writers tend to tell more than show. Most writing advice exists because of what people typically do poorly. What constitutes "poorly" is a matter of reader psychology. We can split hairs over a single use of an adverb, but in the grand scheme, it's not going to make a difference. It's the collective sum of those small "errors" that makes writing poor. And while yes, there is a large subjective component to all of it, there is also an objective part, a commonality that we can tap into.

However, as a counterpoint to all of that, I recall a bit of advice I read many years ago that has always stuck with me. Writing is more about what you do well than what you do poorly. If you are a little heavy in your adverb usage, it's not the end of the world so long as you are doing enough other good things to engage the reader. I haven't read Twilight or seen the movies. I have seen it mentioned that the writing isn't great. So, why was it so successful? I haven't ready Harry Potter either, but apparently Rowling was a fan of alternates to "said." That didn't hold her back.

Too often as writers, we focus on the things you shouldn't do. The things that hurt your writing. We don't talk enough about what makes writing good. Writing can be devoid of all of the common "mistakes" and still be lifeless and dull.

Good writing engages the reader. It makes the reader feel something. It pulls them in and keeps them turning pages to find out what happens. As writers, I think we should focus more on how to achieve those things.

The following is the prologue for Name of the Wind, by Patrick Rothfuss. It is a great example of the type of reader engagement we should be striving for.

It was night again. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.

The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn's sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music... but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained.

Inside the Waystone a pair of men huddled at one corner of the bar. They drank with quiet determination, avoiding serious discussions of troubling news. In doing this they added a small, sullen silence to the larger, hollow one. It made an alloy of sorts, a counterpoint.

The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened for an hour, you might begin to feel it in the wooden floor underfoot and in the rough, splintering barrels behind the bar. It was in the weight of the black stone hearth that held the heat of a long dead fire. It was in the slow back and forth of a white linen cloth rubbing along the grain of the bar. And it was in the hands of the man who stood there, polishing a stretch of mahogany that already gleamed in the lamplight.

The man had true-red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he moved with the subtle certainty that comes from knowing many things.

The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn's ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.

Note that Rothfuss used "to be" verbs extensively. In the end, what the writing makes you feel is way more important than any of the advice we like to espouse. The advice is simply easier to quantify and disseminate. Putting our finger on what makes writing good? That's a lot harder to distill into a pithy phrase like "show don't tell."

 

[Rigor Mortis]

@Banespawn I'll come back to you later when I have a little time. Just note, I'm not disagreeing with you, more trying to examine the nuances of the topic.

 

[Rigor Mortis]

Because stronger verbs are generally more concise and more precise. Take your earlier example of skipping. It's a single verb that tells the reader exactly what the character is doing. It is very easy to imagine. If you wanted to describe that action without using that verb, it would be a lot more difficult to do. Walked happily doesn't cut it. Skipped happily is redundant. Skipped implies happy, and the reader therefore has to infer that. It's really just another aspect of show vs tell. If you write "skipped happily" then you are both showing and telling.

I think I know where my meesaging went off target. My original post was in response to an earlier post upthread, pondering on how much information the writer should provide while allowing scope for the readers to fill the blanks with their own imaginations. I introduced the advice regarding show/tell and adverbs not to dispute their legitimacy but to extend their legitimacy because those concepts also support an approach that gives the reader that space to be an active participant, rather than paasive receptor. I'm not arguing against the encouagement to show, reduce adverb use to judicious application. For the reasons you've detailed, those are broadly sound recommednations, albeit writ in shorthand with plenty of scope to play around with them, as you've also mentioned.

The issue that got me involved in the thread relates to another poster's musing about how much should an author deliver directly and how much should be experienced by stirring the imagination of the reader. My personal reading preference, on that issue, is to have wriggle room, where there's scope for interpretation, for subtext, allegory and all that stuff, where I as reader am challenged to understand. I think that I, and maybe extend to other novice writers, are inclined to be overly distrustful of the capacity of the reader to complete the transaction. I (we?) overwrite to ensure our meaning is clear and will do so to the point where the reader is rendered passive, much like if we overuse "tell" or the specificity of adverbs, etc.

Too often as writers, we focus on the things you shouldn't do. The things that hurt your writing. We don't talk enough about what makes writing good. Writing can be devoid of all of the common "mistakes" and still be lifeless and dull.

Well said.

 

[Banespawn]

I introduced the advice regarding show/tell and adverbs not to dispute their legitimacy but to extend their legitimacy because those concepts also support an approach that gives the reader that space to be an active participant, rather than paasive receptor.

Gotcha.

I think that I, and maybe extend to other novice writers, are inclined to be overly distrustful of the capacity of the reader to complete the transaction. I (we?) overwrite to ensure our meaning is clear and will do so to the point where the reader is rendered passive, much like if we overuse "tell" or the specificity of adverbs, etc.

I agree, but I think this goes back to the idea of how vs how much.

I would never advocate that we should give the reader every single detail. There is definitely a point at which enough is enough. But by that same token, I wouldn't suggest cutting a bit of description for the express purpose of letting the reader imagine it themselves. That's not really something I think about in terms of engaging the reader.

I guess I view it similar to how I view hooks. I want to hook the reader with the information I give them rather than the information I withhold. Likewise, I want to engage the reader with the descriptions I give them rather than those I withhold. I want to give the reader a few descriptions that really stand out so they will experience the setting rather than just imagine it.

It should be noted, also, that I read and write mostly fantasy, so I'm very comfortable with a heavier amount of description. As long as it is written well. Boring is boring, no matter how long it is.

All of that said, I don't want to ignore the very valid point you raised regarding trust in the reader. That is very important. The way that manifests for me is through subtlety. No explanations. No handholding. I try to treat the reader as though they are brilliant and will pick up on every clue. If readers end up struggling to understand, it's easy enough to add more clues. It's harder to cut back on a manuscript that provides too much information.

Descriptions that employ figurative language is another way to show that trust. Trust that the reader won't take us literally and will understand what we are really saying.

The air in Hagen’s cell had a stale quality to it, as though it hadn’t passed through the lungs of a living creature in many years. Beneath that staleness, there were hints of rot, of mold and mildew cultivated in the perpetual damp. He could taste it with every breath, a poison on his tongue that made him glad for the emptiness of his stomach.

I expect the reader to understand that the air isn't actually poison.

 

[Pyroglyphian]

I think that I, and maybe extend to other novice writers, are inclined to be overly distrustful of the capacity of the reader to complete the transaction. I (we?) overwrite to ensure our meaning is clear and will do so to the point where the reader is rendered passive, much like if we overuse "tell" or the specificity of adverbs, etc.

I can certainly relate to this. An associate once remarked that the invention of writing was really the invention of reading. Of late, I feel I’ve gained insight about writing from considering how I, and perhaps others, read.

My tendency to overwrite has other sources. I’m reminded of Bruce Lee’s words to the effect of, “Before I learned the art, a kick was just a kick. Once I had learned the art, a kick was no longer just a kick. Now that I have mastered the art, a kick is just a kick.”

I feel similar. For me, a good piece of writing is greater than the sum of its parts. When I began, writing was just writing. However, when learning a craft, it’s natural to deconstruct: What makes a good plot? Or character? What about POV? What about grammar and sentence construction? How much description? What about genre? And voice? And what am I saying with this anyway?

It’s no longer just writing. It becomes a mammoth. I think (or hope) the trajectory is toward eventual integration of these discrete bits of understanding into a unified whole, at which point, perhaps (I don’t know as I’m not there yet…), writing will become just writing once again. Full circle but with a new understanding.

 

[Also]

am actually probably achieving a less-is-less outcome.

That's the trouble with such prescriptive clichés. I imagine that Hemingway believed, in detriment to his own happiness, that less-is-more also applied in his relationships with women.

If one's ethos is to cut wherever possible, there's always more one can cut. The question becomes should. I've noticed that particularly with some journalists turned authors, cutting is their primary and sometimes only editorial skill. But they often haven't developed the nuanced perception to recognize what they're actually cutting, which is often texture or resonance.

I'd rather have a painter or especially a musician, or maybe an experienced therapist, making editorial suggestions, assuming they also have an ear for language.

 

[Also]

Here are a few of my favorite examples to use in analogies between style in writing and painting.

Links are ephemeral things, so I'm also commenting/characterizing.

Master Bedroom, by Andrew Wyeth.
Hues and contrast are understated. Of these three links, this is closest to my primary style.

Off Rittenhouse Square, by John Haymson.
Ink and watercolor, impressionistic. Fairly bright hues, sense of motion, shapes suggesting detail without penning it all in. I love these but rarely try to evoke them. I do have a friend who at times evokes such impressions in her writing.

15 by LeRoy Neiman
Neiman's characteristically kinetic and colorful style of sports art. I first saw these in McDonald's, which feels apt. They certainly have a wide everyman audience — which is not my readership.

In writing, the Neiman paintings would be purplest of purple prose. That works much better in painting, and I respect and enjoy these, but I'd never hang one in my home.

 

[Also]

New writers tend to tell more than show.

So do many of the best literary writers. Artful telling is a high form of narrative art.

Good writing is in large part about understanding your readership and what grips them. Cinematic writing is not for everyone.

 

[Also]

One of the examples he uses is a dog. A dog is a fairly abstract idea because there are so many different breeds of dog. One person might imagine a chihuahua while another imagines a rottweiler.

Then there is this perspective on the dog:

What had once been a large, open veranda in back had since been enclosed with glass walls and doors as a faculty dining room. Its long side overlooked a wide lawn that opened down to a large pond with a graveled path around it; the short side faced obliquely onto a semi-formal garden with paths and benches. The Veranda was primarily meant as a place to bring visiting faculty and other important guests, but particularly in the summer, faculty and academic staff also favored it for the occasional leisurely lunch.
Sarah said nothing as we made our way up the flagstone walk, only giving me a playfully sidelong look. At the door, I gave my name to the host and discreetly showed my academic staff ID. Sarah was in front of me and didn't catch that.
The host showed us to the corner table I had reserved minutes before, with views of both the lawn and the garden. As it happened, none of the nearby tables were in use, so it was almost as if we were dining alone. On the meadow across the pond, one person was playing Frisbee with a dog while a handful of others lay in the sun reading or basking. The host helped Sarah with her chair, for which she smiled graciously and mouthed a silent thank you.

I asked once in a group — a genre group, to boot — whether I should call the dog a lab or a retriever instead, for specificity. One published influencer said, "Doesn't really matter. Are you going to tell us its name, too? It's just a dog playing Frisbee. It helps set the scene, but extraneous detail only distracts from the main focus of the moment."

That was the best advice that group ever gave me, and though it was a small thing, thinking about it did a lot to clarify my general ideas on why literary writers (which, however, he was not) don't follow the CW on craft clichés like show-don't-tell.

(Still, I probably will change it eventually to a specific breed that gives the setting a tad more personality. Ultimately, what's right is what feels right, not what some rule of thumb says. )

 

[Naomasa298]

Ain't nothing wrong with telling, if you know when to do it.

I've seen people who are proud of the fact that they go through their work and obsessively remove all "-ly" words (see what I did there?). Those words exist for a reason. If you think that somehow makes your work better, than you have the wrong attitude. Hell, even saying "better" is also telling.

"He got in the taxi" - do you REALLY need to know what make, model, colour etc. the taxi is?

 

[Also]

I just want to read the story, not try and decode what the author is trying to describe or contrast.

I'm looking to share the characters' and possibly, separately, the narrator's experience, epiphanies, observations, and insight. I tend to lose interest if there's little more than stuff happening.

That's one reason I so mourn the loss of the Merchant-Ivory film partnership after Merchant's death. Seldom have richer, deeper films films ever been made. But it isn't only the producers. Reportedly, younger audiences began to have more of a get-to-the-point orientation and to lack the patience for rich productions like the ones by M-I.

Thus American cinema is currently dominated by superhero and comicbook fare. Fortunately, there's still good, fairly rich independent work going on in TV miniseries like Olive Kitteridge, Mildred Pierce, American Rust, Mare of Easttown, and the like, some masquerading as mere crime dramas.

You would probably get along really well with Robert McKee and John Truby. They're strongly Chekhovian in the sense that if a detail does not directly advance your storyline, they'll tell you to cut it. Their approach to writing is highly scientific and clinical that way. Who knows — reading their guidebooks might even sway your orientation away from theirs.