After a writer painstakingly crafts his work with sentences that best exhibit the notions that crept from his or her mind, the next step is to go back and reevaluate them. The obvious reason for this is the hunting down of any typos or mistakes—both grammatical and plot-related—that are apparently unavoidable no matter how practiced or experienced you are. But this also is the time when certain sentences may come off sounding awkward and in need of reworking.
One of the things I have to watch for is sentence length. I do not like simple sentences. (Except, apparently, to make a grand statement like the previous one.) Compound sentences, complex sentences, compound-complex sentences… These are the types I prefer, and I frankly don’t see the reason for writing an adult-targeted story as if it were written for grade-school students who are just learning to read. Say it simply. Why? So it can sound dull? Are we really encouraging writers to simplify their text just so less-learned readers can avoid the experience of having to look up and learn a new word? What would be terrible about that? In high school I went through a period where I started riddling my speech with “fifty-cent words” (perhaps a result of all my late night reading). When this of course did not go over well, I did a complete one-eighty in college just to fit in better. But in my writing… there I stayed true to my nature. It is no surprise that writing teachers would occasionally comment on my long sentences. They were grammatically correct—in fact, I think one of the joys I take from writing in this way comes from composing a perfect sentence that links all my related thoughts together in an interesting manner while remaining 100% accurate from a grammatical standpoint. But even I will admit when a sentence gets away from me and is in need of reshaping. I just object to the notion of simplifying for no reason, when the sentence successfully does its job and conveys my idea flawlessly but is simply longer than the average reader is used to. I never emulated Hemingway. Known for simple sentences, his writing style is exemplified in classrooms as the ideal to strive for. (I am only learning now that his style changed depending on the particular book, and that he even crafted a sentence that was well over four hundred words!) It has also been argued that it wasn’t his sentences that were simple as much as his choice of wording. That’s even worse! Could you imagine how dull it would be if we were to go through life only hearing and using the same boring words? Well guess what; it’s already been imagined. In George Orwell’s 1984, which I am currently halfway through reading for the very first time, Big Brother’s society uses a technique whereby the language is being eroded away so that all concepts are represented by a few simple words. This is done in accordance with a belief that eliminating certain words altogether from a language will eliminate the possibility that its members will even be able to conceive of the notions behind them. If there are no words to convey the concepts of freedom or rebellion, how can one consider them? I don’t know if there have ever been any studies to justify this idea—or how one could even be accomplished!—but it still stands as one of the elements in the novel that one would want to avoid in real life. What a colorless world we would live in if our speech—and more so our reading material—were dumbed down to the point of lacking any interest altogether. The story alone cannot cut it; even the most engaging tale requires flavor to bring it to life. Which brings me back to the editing process, and the tightrope we walk when trying to conform to certain accepted notions of how a sentence should be while still allowing our personal flair to show through. It is perhaps the least pleasurable part of the writing process for an author, but it is also one of the most important steps, as how your narrative sounds to the reader’s ear may win or lose your audience. Is it any wonder that this topic weighs heavily on my mind?
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Is exposition “old-fashioned”? Why is it hated so much? I personally have no problem with it – enjoy it even – which is probably why it creeps up so much in my writing. Internal monologs that reveal motives and intentions; anecdotes about characters’ past incidents; in-depth explorations of alien societies. Often my favorite parts of books would be those sections that told us things that were not part of the story itself but were part of the world in which the story plays out. And since most of the books I read took place in imaginary realms of science fiction or fantasy, they often relied on such devices.
Descriptive text bores me. I don’t care what color the walls are. I don’t want to read an entire page about the weather. “Show, don’t tell?” What is this, a movie? Even movies lately suffer from an overabundance of showing without telling, as filmmakers imitate Ridley Scott and treat their films as paintings that need no explanation. I’m sorry, but a story is not a painting. A painting may speak a thousand words, but the words are different for each viewer. A story – and movies are stories just as much as books are – should show things in a definitive manner, not just leave it to the viewer to interpret what he or she wants. That is not how you tell a story. That may work for music videos, but not for narrative fiction. Back to exposition. I had heard so many complaints against expository writing that I’m constantly paranoid and forced to second-guess my own writing because of my predilection to incorporate exposition on a regular basis. And yet as I read older books – and yes, I do still find myself often reading books from the early half of the twentieth century – I am made very much aware of all the exposition involved. How can teachers rail against such writing and then include classics on their students’ “summer reading lists” that are perfect examples of them? “Like what?” you ask. Well, I had never read George Orwell’s 1984 in high school, opting instead to read Anthony Burgess’s A Clockwork Orange. I had recently become curious about the other classic that I had neglected, and so I requested it from my library. Eighty pages in, and it dawned on me. Hardly anything has happened so far, and most of the book is exposition. I’m not complaining! It is exactly the type of situation that calls for it. How else can you plumb the depths of a fanciful society that exists only in the author’s imagination than through constant asides and historical footnotes about fictional events that make up the backstory of its world? I am beginning to come to the conclusion that teachers – and readers as well – who complain so much about exposition do not readily read fanciful fiction and instead prefer reading stories that take place in more reality-inspired settings (what to me would be “the boring real world”). Not that I do not occasionally read books of that nature. I have enjoyed Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons, Mario Puzo’s The Godfather, and (another high school reading list classic) Pat Conroy’s The Lords of Discipline. And I am a huge fan of Ian Fleming’s series of 007 adventures. But rarely do I place my own stories in such a “normal” realm. Is my writing in an “old-fashioned” style? Does that make it outdated, or just different? I could accept the latter, especially since it is the secret goal of all writers to have their work stand out from the masses. As I struggle to stay true to my vision of how my stories should be, I pray that my audience will also share my taste for the anecdotal text that works to enhance the setting while it attempts to complement the narrative storyline. It is my hope that I am not alone in this appreciation of a style that seems to have worked so well for authors in the past who are universally revered as literary geniuses. I’m not looking to be counted among them; I simply don’t want to be ostracized for not playing by modern rules. Tonight I'd like to address some of my literary inspirations, especially those who have written werewolf stories. As for those who haven't, I am a longtime fan of the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs and Richard Matheson, as well as the controversial John Norman, but there are certain werewolf tomes that stand out in my mind as being the pillars on which my book rests. I am in no way comparing my work to these, or myself to these authors; I simply acknowledge their contributions to the genre in general and to myself as a writer. First and foremost is the Howling trilogy by Gary Brandner, although I must admit that it was the Joe Dante movie that inspired me most. In fact, it doesn't take much to realize how that film helped mold Canis Sapiens into what it became. In fact, I will readily admit that when I close my eyes, I envision one of my characters to look exactly like a character from that film. Of course, storywise they are not alike, except in a very basic sense. For those who like their tales to be epic in nature, S. P. Somtow's Moon Dance is a sprawling adventure spanning generations and incorporating other supernatural elements not usually linked to the werewolf theme. I have always considered it to be the Gone with the Wind of werewolf stories. The next book is the second installment of a trilogy that is almost entirely unknown. Wake of the Werewolf, by Geoffrey Caine, is sandwiched between a vampire novel and a zombie one, and each one is an iconic, worthy tribute to its corresponding sub-genre. Finally, even though Carrie Vaughn's Kitty Norville series was written after I had already composed my first draft, reading it inspired me in a different way. Finding her style to be similar in tone to my own, I felt a strange kinship in this other werewolf-loving contemporary author and felt hopeful that there just might be an audience for my work too.
I encourage others to check out these predecessors, and I thank them for figuratively letting me stand on their shoulders. |
AuthorCreator of the Canis Sapiens series, Anthony Regolino created this blog to discuss his work, upcoming projects, and writing in general. Archives
April 2023
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