Grammar according to the world of creative writing
It seems to me that a creative writer would want to make use of the abundant constructions, punctuation, and words the English language supplies.
However, short fiction, or at least contemporary short fiction, or at least contemporary short fiction that I’ve read, is relatively sparse. Lorrie Moore’s short story “How to Be an Other Woman” employs few sentence openers beside subjects and comprises mostly simple sentences. Simplicity seems to be the rule—whether in construction or word choice.
My creative writing teachers have warned to use adjectives, adverbs, and adverbial modifiers sparingly. Instead, they emphasize powerful verbs. They reason that if a writer has done her job well, if she has effectively drawn fully fleshed characters and scenes, that adjectives, adverbs, and adverbial modifiers are largely useless and superfluous in conveying emotion or action. Take this excerpt from “How to Be an Other Woman” for example:
“He tells you his wife’s name. It is Patricia. She is an intellectual property lawyer. He tells you he likes you a lot. You lie on your stomach, naked and still too warm. When he says, “How do you feel about that?” don’t say “Ridiculous” or “Get the hell out of my apartment.” Prop your head up with one hand and say: “It depends. What is intellectual property law?”
Her sentences are short. Simple. Succinct. There are only seven adjectives in this brief paragraph—and not one adverb. It should be obvious how the protagonist lies and props her head up because of the descriptions following. It should be obvious that she would say “Ridiculous” and “Get the hell out of my apartment” indignantly. The reader should be able to picture her sweet, sly smile when she asks what intellectual property law is.
If Moore’s character had spoken indignantly or slyly, it would have been an example of what Steve Almond, one of the country’s most prolific short story writers, terms “the busy attributive.” A character does not need to scream, rage, beg, declare, mock, sneer, lie, or even ask, or reply. She need simply to say.Moore writes, he says “How do you feel about that?” because the question mark signals that his dialogue is a question, rendering “he asks” redundant. And we don’t need to know how he asks the question because, as Almond says, “a good piece of dialogue should– by virtue of word choice, rhythm, and syntax– convey tone” (148). The reader already gets it.
If adjectives and adverbs must be used sparingly, then ellipses and exclamation points are absolutely verboten. Noah Lukeman says that there is nothing inherently wrong with ellipses and that they have their place in the hands of capable writers, especially when used in dialogue to suggest a trailing off. “The doctor approached her gravely, and put a hand on her shoulder. He said, ‘Your friend…might not live.'” But I would never use them. I think they are melodramatic– and unnecessary if I’ve written dialogue well.
And as for the exclamation point? As my former creative writing teacher Tita Ramirez said, “A writer is allotted five exclamation points over her lifetime.” And she’s right! Oops, there goes one of my five! (Oops, minus two).
I will have to keep all of this in mind when I sit down to write.
Works Cited