Writing, Clear and Simple

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”

—William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Over at Brandywine Books, author Lars Walker writes about using word choice to convey emotions in fiction, and it reminded me how important it was for all writing, not just fiction. He started by talking about what really good actors do to convey emotions with just their eyes:

Last night I pretended to know something about movies, and talked about the kind of subtle acting you used to see in good films—particularly the kind of acting that’s done with the eyes. The thing about eye acting (if I can call it that) is that it’s a sort of visual subtext. It’s not like in a script, where the directions say, “Rufus goes to the window and looks out.” The eye acting is something the actor himself adds, and it probably hasn’t been explicitly written out in the script.

So how can I claim that there’s an equivalent in fiction writing? If you can’t write it in a script, you can’t write it in a story either, right?

Well, not exactly.

How many times have we heard (and said), “It’s not what you said, it’s the way you said it.”

“But that’s about tone of voice and facial expression,” you say. “If you describe those things in a story, it’s not eye acting. It’s stage direction—‘Stop!’ John said commandingly. Or ‘Stop!’ John said with an angry frown. There’s nothing subtle about that.”

Ah, but there are other ways. Chief among these is word selection. Word selection is to writing what eye acting is to film.

Much of the time, I’m inclined to go with the first word that rolls onto the page or screen while I’m writing. And while I’m working on the first draft, that’s fine; the important thing at that point is to get the words out and onto the page.

But when we’re re-writing (and we should do that with almost everything we write), we should begin questioning the words you use. Lars gave a couple of examples of how this worked (so go over and read his post), but let me expand on that with some examples of my own.

For example, I could write that someone “walked into the room.” Or I could replace walked with other words like: stride, stomp, stump, stumble, wander, amble, bounce, prance, barge, crash, waltz, or sashay. Each word conveys the same basic information as walked, that a person entered a room; but each of these alternatives adds another layer of information, both denotative (that is, the specific and direct meaning) and connotative (implied or suggested associations).

I can write that someone said something, or I can instead use murmur, mumble, moan, mutter, blurt, bleat, bark, wail, whisper, hiss, stutter, shriek, or cry. Again, these words have different definitions, and they also convey information about emotional states.

All writing, not just fiction writing, can benefit when we give careful thought to our words. A bit of creativity can go a long way, even in something as prosaic as an email message.

For example, if you’re writing a message asking someone to fill out an employee information form, is it important, vital, or urgent? Each of these let’s the reader know that filling out the form is a big deal, but each conveys a different impression about what kind of big deal it is. (Of course, in choosing your words, you have to be honest. Don’t say that something is vital unless it really is vital for the reader, and not just something that will make your job easier. Don’t build yourself a reputation for crying wolf.)