Sentence Beginnings

Last week, ten of you left comments favoring Sample 1. I, too, favored it. It was more immediate and, I think, more lyrical. It situated you, the reader, in the scene.

            Now the question is “What happened between Draft 13 and 19 that made me change my writing style?” The answer is that I began to pay attention to the way contemporary mystery novelists write.

            In an earlier posting, I examined the way I was taught to write with a variety of simple, compound, and complex sentences. I quickly fell into the habit of beginning many sentences with a subordinate clause that established a timeframe. After she decided to write about the craft of writing, the dismayed writer realized she knew nothing about that topic. Or I’d begin with a participial phrase: Sitting at the computer, the dismayed writer tried to compose her post for the day.

            However, last year I began to examine paragraphs in the mysteries I read. Most were straightforward, that is, the novelists put the subject of the sentence as close as possible to its beginning. They didn’t avoid complex sentences that began with the subordinate clause, but they didn’t favor them either—as I did. With this writing style, a plot moved forward quickly. These novelists built a paragraph of simple, compound, and complex sentences that were simpler in construction than the ones I wrote.

            Some of them seemed to be shooting bullets pointblank at the reader: bang a sentence with subject/predicate at the beginning. Bang, another sentence. Bang, a third. But more often, the novelists were gifted at establishing transition without using the link of a beginning phrase or subordinate clause. I admire this skill.

            So for Draft 19, I edited to rid the manuscript of sentences in which the reader had to slog through a number of words before getting to the subject and its predicate—the “meat” of the sentence. Unfortunately, I do not yet have the ability to write that way without sounding stilted. I need to work on the craft. When I simply write what I’m thinking and the way I'm thinking it, my writing is much more like the 19^th century than the 21^st.

Here’s a painting by Goya of a Spanish writer with the tools of his trade.

            I’ve now merged the two samples from last week into the following sample. You will note that it illustrates the way I wrote as I grew up. It's not an example of the way many novelists write today.

Burdened with shame, I trekked down to the Jordan to spy on John. By the time I arrived at Elisha’s spring, the sun had already climbed the heavens' vault. Cupping my hand in the rush of its chilled water, I drank deeply, then rose and headed southeast.

      Warily, I descended steep ravines and forded wadis swollen with water rumbling through the steep gorges on its turbulent journey to the Jordan. Only a trickle would reach the winding river when the dry season began.

     As the sun drew the early morning rain back into the heavens, the day grew muggy. Heat shimmered like a spider’s dream as chirring locusts scoured the well-worn path to the river. Rivulets of sweat trickled down my back and soaked the hair massed in the hollows of my armpits. Thistle from low-growing brambles and sweet-smelling acacias snared my tunic with bristled burrs. Thus it was that I arrived at the ford of Bethabara stinking of sweat.

     Beyond the plumed reeds, chattering pilgrims thronged the embankment, chewing figs, spitting out pomegranate seeds, telling overblown tales. Besides subtle phrases spoken in Hebrew, I could hear the musical cadence of Greek and the more familiar Aramaic, spoken with a deep twang by peasants from the Galilee. Amidst the dissonance, I longed for the quiet of my courtyard and the tools of my trade.

Do you think this opening is getting better? That is, does it draw you into the scene and make you want to read more?

“The New Novel” by Winslow Homer.

And would you rather read fewer words or would you rather live in the scene? Some writers can manage both feats. I’m still working on that.

All the photographs are from Wikipedia.

Polishing a Manuscript

Continued from last Sunday . . .

I delete fewer and fewer words as I go through draft after draft. For the novel I now have ready, I first wrote 212,000 words; then cut 86,000 in nineteen drafts.

            Much deleting occurred between 1999 and 2005 when I completed Draft 13. However, earlier drafts were on “floppy” disks that aren’t compatible with this computer. Thus, the two samples presented here are much closer in form than I’d like to show you. Still, if you compare them sentence by sentence you’ll see the refining I did.

2005—Draft 13—245 Words

Early the next morning, I trekked down to the Jordan to spy on John. As the sun began to climb the vault of the heavens, I came to Elisha’s spring. There I knelt to dip my hand into the fresh water welling up from the red clay and drank deeply. It was now warm enough to remove my cloak.

Rising, I headed southeast, descending steep ravines and fording wadis swollen with water, which rumbled through the steep gorges seeking the Jordan. When the dry season began, only a trickle would reach the winding river.

          As the sun drew the early morning rain back into the heavens, the day grew muggy. Heat shimmered like a spider’s dream as chirring locusts scoured the muddy path to the river. Beneath my tunic, rivulets of sweat trickled down my back and soaked the hair massed in the hollows of my armpits. Thistle from low-growing brambles and sweet-smelling acacias snared my tunic. Thus it was that I arrived at the ford of Bethabara stinking of sweat, with burrs puckering my clothes.

Pushing aside the plumed reeds, I joined the chattering pilgrims sitting on the embankment—chewing figs, spitting out pomegranate seeds, telling overblown tales. Besides subtle phrases spoken in Hebrew, I could hear the musical cadence of Greek and the more familiar Aramaic, spoken with a deep twang by peasants from the Galilee. Amidst this dissonance, I longed for the quiet of my courtyard and the tools of my trade.

Wikipedia photograph of the Jordan River

2012—Draft 19—180 words

Elisha’ spring gurgled forth from red clay. I splashed its sun-dappled water on my sweaty face, then refreshed my parched throat. Removing my cloak, I headed southeast, descending steep ravines and fording wadis swollen with water rumbling through the steep gorges toward the Jordan. Only a trickle would reach the winding river when the dry season began.

           Heat shimmered like a spider’s dream as chirring locusts scoured the rutted path to the river. Rivulets of sweat soaked the back of my tunic. Thistle from low-growing brambles tangled my dusty tunic. Thus it was that I arrived at the ford of Bethabara stinking of sweat, with burrs puckering my clothes.

I pushed aside the plumed reeds, draping my cloak over a shrub. Chattering pilgrims thronged the embankment, chewing figs, spitting pomegranate seeds, telling overblown tales. Some spoke subtle phrases in Hebrew; others, the musical cadence of Greek. The multitude used the more familiar Aramaic, spoken with a deep twang by peasants from the Galilee. Amidst this dissonance, I longed for the quiet of my courtyard and the tools of my trade.

Now what can happen with that kind of writing—that is, going over and over a manuscript to delete words—is that the writer can suck the juices out of the words. They become stale. Not only to the writer, but also the reader. And that may be what has happened with this manuscript. Attempting to tighten, I may have removed the story’s savor. I’m interested in what you think.  

Next Sunday I hope to explain how I arrived at the final draft after reading many contemporary novelists and studying how they craft their sentences.

Writing, Cutting, Polishing a Manuscript

Effective writing takes both time and effort. It can, however, be a labor of love. At least that’s what it is for me. When I write, I feel centered and aware of Presence. For me, writing is a form of prayer. So today I’d like to share with you my method of writing/praying a story or an extended manuscript.

            In 1989, I channeled the manuscript that was later published as A Cat’s Life: Dulcy’s Story. Originally, Dulcy gave me 42,000 words. In 1991, Jane Meara, an exceptional Crown editor, asked me to cut the manuscript in half by concentrating only on the relationship between Dulcy and me. The result was Dulcy’s first book. The words I deleted became the main part of Dulcy’s second book: A Cat’s Legacy: Dulcy’s Story.

 The scene reflects what the first draft of anything I write looks like.

            The key to cutting was the word relationship. With that word I was able to ruthlessly delete extraneous words and incidents from the original draft. We writers need something to keep us grounded in the thrust of what we are writing. That something may be a keyword or it may be a question, such as “What did the character do that led to this or that effect?” Or “What do I need here so as to build suspense?”

            In an earlier posting, I explained that for thirteen years I’ve worked on a novel that takes place in first-century Palestine. The first draft of that novel boasted 212,000 words. Ultimately, I deleted 86,000 of them. How did I cut so many? By repeatedly asking myself, “Is this word, incident, character necessary to telling the story?” “Does it advance the plot?” “Does it build suspense?” “Does it show the reader something necessary?”

            I simply kept chipping around at the rock formation of the manuscript until I arrived at the “sculpture” that revealed scene, plot, character. Something like the photograph below.

A sculptured face that illustrates the classic Veracruz culture of 600 to 900 CE.

(From Wikipedia)

            As with Dulcy, I tend to be wordy. My writing style is to simply sit at the computer and let the words come—willy-nilly. I write until I’m written out. Word after word. Scene after scene. Lines of dialogue followed by more dialogue.

            I do that in writing my on-line memoir. Often, I’ll write 1,200 words on a Wednesday morning. Then I’ll assiduously cut to fewer than 600 words. Thus, I need two and a half hours to write, polish, and edit a story and then a half hour to select photographs and post. Three hours in all.

            And yet Friko, a blogger whom I read faithfully because I enjoy her attitude toward life, once shared that she needed only twenty minutes to write a posting. My first attempts simply aren’t that good. I must decide what is the essence of the story from my life: what do I hope to communicate? Then I must delete every superfluous word no matter how clever or revealing it is. Anything that does not advance the story to its ending has to go.

            I try to do the same with this blog. I ask myself, “Does this word, phrase, sentence help explain my topic?” If it doesn’t, it’s deleted.

            Now, how about you? Do you write everything down and then judiciously delete? What’s your secret of success?

Postscript:

I hope you’ll share the crafting of this blog with me. Let me know with your comments what you’d like me to write about. One of you has already requested that I write about the use of which instead of that as well as the use of commas. I hope to write that post soon, perhaps as early as next Sunday.

“Landscape with Trees” by adamr from freedigitalphotos.com