There’s the way that fits a character, a plot thread, a genre. There’s a way that fits the sentence that came before and the one that follows.

There’s a fit for rhythm and sound and impact. For emotion.

There’s a way to write a sentence that fits the tenor of the reader, of the moment, of the era.

But no way is always right all the time.

And there’s no one best way to write a novel.

A novel is not a paint-by-number canvas where you follow explicit instructions to turn out a product that looks a bit like what you’d been promised.

Writing a novel takes skill and finesse, knowledge of the rules and experience with artistry.

There is no one way to do it right. To do it well. To create something worth reading.

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You already know this, I’m sure. So why am I reminding writers and editors of what we already know? For simply that reason: to remind us.

Just recently I shared with a couple of writers that when I make editing suggestions, I’m not including every possible option. There may be quite a number of options that would work.

There are multiple ways to convey a point, advance a scene, reveal a character, or turn up the conflict. Even given the fairly narrow parameters of a scene, there are dozens of words that could replace any other single word in a way that would send the scene into a new direction, if that is the intent, or that would deepen the already established feel, the emotion or tone, of the scene, if that is the intent.

When you write and rewrite and edit, keep in mind that you’re not restricted to one or two choices. Yes, you’ll want to write in a way that brings cohesion. But you don’t want to write in a way that limits your characters or your story, that restricts your expression.

Think you can only end your scene with your main character facing a bottle all alone on the day he buried his best friend? What would happen if Jake, your protagonist, heard a knock on his door and the visitor, instead of going away as Jake bellowed for him to do, walked into Jake’s home carrying his own bottle?

What if that visitor was Jake’s ex-wife? His best friend’s widow? The best friend’s twin brother? The man who killed his best friend? His best friend’s ghost?

His best friend himself?

There’s always a different way to do anything, to do everything, when we write. And I’m referring to both big-picture elements such as plot events and characterization as well as the fine details such as word choice and punctuation.

A story can take a turn in the writing or the editing that in the finished story seems inevitable. Without hesitation. Perfect. As if that passage had written itself, it was so right for the story and the scene and the chapter where it was placed.

The technical elements—word choice and grammar and syntax—can also work this same magic. And it’s not just one perfect word that will create a strong story moment.

In a character description, the choice of one word could drive a scene in one direction while another word led in a different direction. Or, the choice from among half a dozen words might prove equally effective.

That is, sometimes you might want to sweat over a word or phrase and other times discover that many phrases could accomplish the same result and that instead of sweating the choice, you need only pick one.

I am not saying that just any word or phrase or sentence construction will work.

I am saying there is no one right way that works in every situation and that there are multiple options that may be equally valid.

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Once you start trying options, gain experience with finishing novel-length manuscripts, you’ll be able to gauge where a scene will be headed if you use certain types of words or phrasings or constructions. As a painter knows the results of combining colors on certain bases using different media and brushes, so the writer knows the results of word combinations and syntax and knows how to manipulate the writing elements for best effect.

With practice, you’ll know what you can do, what happens when you make one choice rather than another, and that there are even more options that you could explore.

There’s no one way, no always right way, to write an entertaining novel. If there were, novel writing would be write-by-numbers. Every story would have the same feel. Not the same plot, of course, but the same rhythms and tone. The same balance of elements. The same . . . problems. Ultimately, the same flat expression. Because that’s what the reader would feel. A sameness that makes even perfection flat.

For editors, this is a reminder to offer options to the writer. Give them an idea of the results when different options are tried. Let them know they aren’t restricted to either this or that, A or B. That instead they may have a choice among A and B and Y and Z. Maybe even A plus C plus Y or Z.

For writers, this is a reminder that the first choice of words, word combinations, sentence construction, or plot threads may not be the best for the story you intend to write.

Phrasings and plot events written in an early draft may not be the best for the story that you ultimately do write.

That is, you don’t need to keep what you wrote in an early draft just because it’s already written. You have options. You can change your mind and your story.

Not having only one correct way to write any part of a story—from single word to sentence to event to dialogue to chapter—means you can change anything.

Free yourself from the fear of making changes. Know there are options.

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Don’t rely only on rules; rely on heart as well. Put both skill and artistry to work. Know what the tried and true can do, but be bold and try something fresh.

Use what you know works and look for other options that work just as well and better.

Don’t limit yourself or your stories and characters. Explore your options.

Try a new way to phrase the common.

Paint your characters with fresh colors.

Write bold stories.

***

The writer must decide what is the when of story.

I’ve seen plenty of comments and recommendations about narrative tense and a lot of the debate is contentious. Although some readers and writers might have no true preference, most are firmly in one camp or the other.

Either they insist using the simple past is the only way to tell a story or they say present tense has much to offer and is as equally valid as past tense.

I don’t intend to start a debate, but I do want to let you know that you have options. And limitations. And that you face the expectations of readers, readers who include agents and acquisitions editors.

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What we’re talking about is the manner in which you present the actions of your story world. Do narrator and viewpoint characters see actions and events as happening in the past or do they act as if the events are happening right now?

Do they say—

Marlboro raced through the forest. [Past]

Or

Marlboro races through the forest. [Present]

What about these—

Tilly, aching for one sight of her lover, waited at the abandoned cottage and watched for riders on the old north road.

Tilly, aching for one sight of her lover, waits at the abandoned cottage and watches for riders on the old north road.

_________

I feared the man who was my father; his voice alone demanded respect.

I fear the man who is my father; his voice alone demands respect.

The setup for both is simple; the effects are vastly different.

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Most stories are told using the simple past—was, walked, drank, hoped. Stories using the past tense are written the same way stories have been told for years—once upon a time, sometime before the present time, these marvelous characters existed and lived out a fantastic adventure. They did these things, these events are over, and someone can’t resist telling you all about these happenings and adventures.

When I say most stories, I mean the great majority of stories. Oral stories as well as written fiction are told using the past tense. It’s common to readers, it’s common to writers, and it’s been the prevalent format for storytelling for years and years and years.

It’s so common that readers don’t notice it; they simply jump into the story’s adventure.

The present tense—is, walks, drinks, hopes—on the other hand, is rare. Yes, we all know wonderful stories told using present tense. Yet in comparison to the number of novels that use the simple past, present-tense novels are few in number. Present-tense narration is also much more recent a practice.

From what I can tell from a quick survey of Internet articles, readers notice when stories are told using the present tense. I’m not saying, nor are those readers, that there’s anything wrong with the use of present tense. We are saying that its use is noticeable.

And noticeable mechanics may well not be what you’re trying for.

Let me stress that neither choice is right or wrong on principle. You can use either present or past tense for telling your stories.

The present tense is often associated with literary fiction, short stories, students in writing programs and workshops, and first novels. The past tense is used in most genre novels.

Pros and Cons

Familiarity
Since the past tense is familiar to readers, readers don’t have to adjust when they begin a story written using past tense. There might well be an adjustment period for readers of present-tense stories.

Novelty
Stories told using present-tense narration can be enticing because they’re different. Readers may also end up paying closer attention since the format is one unfamiliar to them. They may develop a deeper involvement in the story.

Immediacy
Some writers and readers believe that use of the present tense makes story action and events more immediate. On the other hand, proponents of the past tense may find that verbs used in the past tense make story events seem more immediate. Because there’s no adjustment needed, readers can imagine themselves in the story from page one.

Believability
Readers have to believe that story events written in present tense are happening at the very moment they’re reading. That’s admittedly a stretch for some readers since they know the story events are not happening in the now. After all, a book’s events have to have been completed before the book was written. Yes, readers can get over this incongruity, but reader perception is something to consider when you choose your narrative tense.

While the present tense is not common in fiction, some writing uses present tense as a matter of course—

Scripts and plays

A synopsis

Essays that use the literary present tense (When writing about the events of a story: Alex then demands a declaration from Stella, but she refuses to humor him. When writing about what a writer says: Tinsdale uses this phrase to show his contempt for his critics’ opinions.)

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No matter your choice for the narrative tense—

Be consistent—don’t switch between past and present

Use compelling and descriptive verbs

Don’t overuse progressive forms—was walking, is talking

You won’t go wrong using the simple past for most of your fiction. Readers expect it and it won’t get in the way of the story.

Try present tense if you want readers to notice the narrative tense or you want to see if you can make story events even more immediate. Keep in mind that readers might have to make adjustments. Weigh the benefits against the costs—are the benefits, whatever they are for your story, enough to compensate for that adjustment period during which readers will not be fully involved in either characters or plot events?

Be prepared to change from present tense to past in order to see your manuscript accepted by a publisher. You might have to do it; would you be willing to make the change if it meant being published? Could you do it?

 *******

Choose the present tense if you’re trying for a unique feel to your fiction, but know the limitations. Know that readers might not accept your choice. Know that publishers might ask you to change your narrative tense.

Choose past tense when you don’t want to distract the reader, when you want to use the common storytelling method.

Don’t let fear hold you back. Use the narrative tense that works for the story, the genre, and your readers. Know what narrative tense can achieve.

Write strong stories.

Write powerful fiction.

***

Yet reader perception is truly important. It means the difference between a book that’s enjoyed to the end and one that’s put down—maybe thrown down—before the reader has finished it.

Reader perception is what readers bring to your story. They may have an idea what the book is about through the recommendation of a friend or critic. Or maybe they read the back cover blurb, and that was enough to have them buying or borrowing the book, anticipating the adventure you’ve prepared for them.

If the perception of your book is one that appeals, the reader will read. And he’ll develop more perceptions right from page one.

He’ll feel the tone—is the opening scene light, maybe humorous? Readers should pick up on that. And if they do, they’ll expect the rest of the story to adhere to the tone of the first pages. Not that they expect only humor or humor on every page, but they will expect some. Those first pages have primed the reader’s expectations and they’ll want you to deliver what they think you’ve promised.

Now, you can say you never promised humor, but perception is reality, until the reader learns otherwise. If a reader feels you’ve made a promise, he’ll be looking for fulfillment of that promise.

Readers can read a lot into the first pages—that’s one reason they’re so important to get right.

If the language on those early pages is poetic, readers will expect the poetic throughout the story, at least when dealing with a particular character.

If the words are crude, rough with cussing and locker-room language, that’s what they’ll expect later. So, if you start with the four-letter words, know that the reader will expect them to continue. Maybe not to the same degree. But they certainly won’t expect rainbows and kittens to replace them.

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These perceptions can cover any subject matter and any writing element.

I’ve spoken to two writers recently about the presence of a child in the opening pages. Neither of the stories was about children and in one, the child was simply used in the opening scene, he was not a featured character and would never be seen again.

The presence of children early in a book can signal readers that the book is for or about kids. Or, that may not be true at all and a child may just be a device for introducing the lead character or the plot. But if a reader doesn’t want to read about kids or a story he thinks is written for kids, he may put the book down.

Or the reader may read on because a book with children appeals and then discover children aren’t featured at all. And that’s when that reader throws the book across the room.

It seems such a little thing, doesn’t it? But perception is strong, and it can take readers a place you’d never intended.

On the other hand, when you’ve set up the perceptions, you can lead the reader exactly where you want him to go.

If you want the reader agitated, feeling suspense in the early pages, set him on edge. Write a scene that knocks the reader off balance and keep him off balance for a while. Use what readers already know about story and about a genre and use the expectations he brings to your story to pull him deep right from the start.

Look at book covers. No, most writers don’t have much say about their covers, but covers do a lot for reader perception. A pink cover with fluffy white clouds sets up one perception. The same cover with one addition—a dagger dripping crimson blood—creates a different perception.

The same thing this visual does for the reader, you can do with words. Get the reader on your side by creating a perception that matches what your story will deliver.

So, what does this mean in terms of writing the book?

It means that you might have to change your story opening to match the climax and resolution you actually end up with.

If means that the first pages need to match the tone, the style, the word choices, the character personalities, the dialogue patterns, and the action you want the rest of the story to offer.

It means you need to be aware of your audience as you write, and more importantly, as you edit. You need to remember that readers open that first page knowing nothing about your main character, your antagonist, and the challenges ahead for both of them. So, you need to read as a reader would.

What is there in the early pages for a reader to discover, to latch on to, to use to orient himself in your make-believe world? What expectations have you established? What perceptions will a reader bring to the first page and then, once he’s read those first pages, carry to the rest of the story?

I don’t mean to imply that readers only have perceptions at the opening of a book. But when perceptions are not met there, you can lose the reader before he’s gotten involved. If he’s already involved in your plot and with your characters and then you seemingly mislead him—because that’s what a perception that’s messed with will feel like—you might be able to keep him reading. If he’s just got to know what happens next, the miscue can be forgiven.

I’m also not saying that characters can’t grow and change. But that change will be an outgrowth of the story, not a decision by you to make the character more (or less) appealing halfway through the story. If the reader’s perception is that the protagonist is a decent man, even though he’s made some mistakes, he may not take well to the revelation that the protagonist actually killed his neighbor’s dog, on purpose, by running over him with his car.

Yes, of course you could write such a revelation. But you’ve got to know the strength of reader perception and the consequences when you manipulate it too far. Surprise the reader, yes. But don’t write a setup for one story and deliver a different one. If you’ve revealed a character’s personality through dialogue and action and thought, and then admit it was all a lie, you can expect readers to react. And more than likely, react unfavorably.

Be aware of reader perceptions. Put them to work for you rather than allowing them to work against you. If you know what the reader will think when you write Before heading out to the cliff, Amy taped a note to the bathroom mirror that said she’d always loved the theme song from M*A*S*H, but you don’t actually mean to imply the depressed woman’s going to kill herself, then change what you’ve written. If she liked the song because it reminded her of nights around the TV with her parents and siblings, help the reader discover that.

Give serious thought to the effects of your words on your readers. Acknowledge perceptions.

But please, don’t write wearing a straitjacket. Be aware, but not bound. Know what expectations and perceptions you’re creating and then use them. If you find one that’s not appropriate for the rest of the story or for tone or character or genre, change it. Anticipate reader reaction but don’t overanalyze.

Put any and everything to work for your stories.

Write with awareness.

Put perceptions to work.

***

We’ve all read stories where coincidence or fate (perhaps one of the literal Fates) saves the day or provides the missing clue or wraps up the loose ends for characters and readers.

And don’t you absolutely hate when that happens?

When coincidence rather than the inevitable (and no, they aren’t the same thing) shows up in fiction, the reader notices.

Coincidence is often employed when the writer fails to properly plan a way to pull his lead character’s butt out of the fire. Coincidence steps in boldly when the mystery writer can’t logically and creatively explain how the murderer got out of the locked room.

Coincidence is a glowing, flashing, sign that says look at me, I’m here to make this plot twist work or to explain what shouldn’t need explanation.

Coincidence is a sure sign of poor plotting.

Need a character who had to have known the protagonist as a teen but forgot to write him into the story? Add him in on page 245 of a 265-page book when he accidentally bumps into the protagonist outside a bank, thus reminding New Character that the protagonist stole money from New Character’s sister’s piggy bank when they were teens.

Aha! Piggy bank as a teen, standing outside a bank now. This, then, must be the answer to who done it. New Character has done his job. The fact that he’s in the scene is written off to coincidence.

But who believes in that kind of coincidence? Not modern readers. And is New Character ever seen again? Nope. He played his part and is quickly pushed out of the story, pushed out of a story he had no logical reason to be in.

Rather than making readers howl with anger or outrage about adding a character—and his vital plot connections—at the last minute, write the character into the story earlier.

Plan for the introduction of New Character before he’s even introduced.

The protagonist is dreading/anticipating a class reunion, looking through the yearbooks his wife dragged out. She may even point out New Character—didn’t he have that cute little sister who followed you guys around everywhere?

The protagonist can tell his wife about the piggy bank incident, how he accidentally knocked over New Character’s sister’s piggy bank the afternoon he and little sister were getting to know one another better in her bedroom when her parents—and for a while, her older brother—were out of the house.

Well, he may not tell his wife all the details, but he can think some of them, thus revealing them to the reader. New Character never knew what happened with his little sister, of course, but he did know about the piggy bank being broken, with his sister having explained that the protagonist had broken it to get some gas money.

In this way, the reader gets an intro to New Character without anyone yet spilling the beans. The protagonist could have another remembrance of something from high school, a bit later in the story, something that makes him think about his buddies, of how he’s ashamed of the way a few of them treated one of the other guys. He doesn’t even have to think of New Character by name in this remembrance. The idea of buddies at school combined with a negative behavior on top of the other mention of New Character is a sufficient setup. Thus the reader is brought up to speed on the school chums and their not always genteel behavior.

By the time the protagonist runs into New Character—New Character is in town for the reunion—outside their old burger hangout—now a Starbucks—next door to the oldest bank in town, the stage is set and coincidence is absent. Instead, the story lines have crossed and tightened enough to pull what were once disparate elements into a cohesive narration.

Of course, you’ll do this weaving and layering with dozens of story threads and often with stronger ties than I’ve laid out here, but this example is one to show you how to avoid coincidence.

What Coincidence Does

Coincidence messes with the suspension of disbelief because it so quickly and thoroughly reminds readers that they are reading fiction.

While coincidence can and does happen in real life, it’s not believed in fiction. And when the reader catches it, everything you’ve done before to create the illusion of a world where events happen just as you’ve laid them out is washed away as if it had never been.

Your clever plot twists, your stellar phrases, your characters who seem more real than the woman next to you in line, the tears you’ve made the reader shed and the laughter you’ve made her release—all these are nothing as soon as the suspension of belief is fractured.

Do you understand why readers would be so disappointed for the suspension of disbelief to be broken? They’ve accepted what you told them, so much so that they were moved emotionally, and then you show that you were only fooling them. What you’d gotten them to believe was just a lie.

Readers take this as a betrayal. You, the writer, didn’t hold up your end of the reader/writer contract. You tricked them. You reminded them that you got them believing your lies.

No one likes being tricked so thoroughly. No one likes being betrayed, especially when their emotions are invested.

The suspension of disbelief is both strong and fragile. It’s strong enough to withstand the passage of time between moments when the reader puts down a book and picks it back up again. It’s strong enough to hold the reader’s attention when children and jobs and household chores and illness and bad weather and good weather can’t entice the reader away from the make-believe of your story. (You know readers are truly into a story when the beach and all its beauty loses its allure in favor of words on a page.)

But it’s fragile, oh so fragile. So delicate that a single word can cause it to crack, a phrase of two or three words can rattle its foundations, a sentence can shatter it beyond repair.

What happens when coincidence shows itself?

It’s noticed.

It turns on the reader’s analytic side, makes him wonder what’s going on.

Tension is immediately reduced—look, the savior is here bringing the necessary knowledge or answer and it costs the characters nothing. Guess we can all go home happy now.

Coincidence, especially at the end of a story or as a means of solving the mystery or resolving plot issues, robs the story of inevitability. The reader won’t have, can’t have, seen that coming.  The reader will feel cheated. Hoodwinked. Taken advantage of.

Places Coincidence Might Sneak In

Seeming coincidences can happen when you don’t fully prepare for an outcome, when you don’t give the reader enough information to have guessed what would happen or which character would make something happen.

Coincidence in fiction can be a character in a place he has no reason to be simply in order for him to hear or see something that will prove key to the story.

Coincidence can come from a character’s prior knowledge released at just the right time. The coincidence is not necessarily that a character had the knowledge, but that he had no logical reason to possess that knowledge or that he just happened to be at the right place and the right time to offer it.

When a reader says he doesn’t buy your story, coincidence may be what has made him doubt.

Avoid coincidence and keep the reader believing in your fiction by prepping for revelations ahead of time. Put the characters and their knowledge into the story before that knowledge is needed. Write earlier scenes so it’s inevitable for a character to be present at a later scene.

Don’t merely let things happen; make them happen. Make your story unfold with purpose rather than allowing it to go just anywhere.

Give the reader no reason to doubt your story events. Do your part to maintain the suspension of disbelief.

Keep the reader involved in the story events and willing to ignore their fictional nature.

Write inevitable moments.

Write convincing fiction.

***

Well . . . My first response is that adverbs are a legitimate part of speech and thus they can and should be used. If anyone advocates their ban, that person is encouraging writers to close off or ignore a valid means of expression.

That said, adverbs are not to be used in place of weak verbs or to make up for inexact phrasing.

Use an adverb when it’s needed to convey a particular meaning or when the passage (or even the story or genre itself) demands its use. If the tone of a passage, the personality of a character, or the style of the story calls for adverbs, do not hesitate to use them.

But use them sparingly.

Adverbs can be noticeable, especially those ending in -ly. Because they can be placed in different locations in a sentence, writers don’t always notice they’ve used them in a way that weakens their phrases and annoys the reader. That is, because they might not show up in the same place every time—such as at the beginning of a sentence—writers might not be bothered by them the way readers will. They may not even see them since they’re focused on plot and character and dialogue and emotion and conflict . . .

If you have a character who speaks adverbs, include them in that character’s dialogue. But omit them from the dialogue of other characters—unless they are mocking or copying his style.

Definitely restrict their use in dialogue tags. Yes, adverbs were once quite popular as modifiers for the verbs in dialogue tags. But they aren’t popular for that purpose today. Adverbs paired with creative dialogue tags can come across as melodramatic or as amateurish storytelling. As the work of an inexperienced author.

If you read a lot of the classics, balance that reading with the reading of modern novels so you can see what readers of today enjoy. And what they expect. Don’t base your style on writers from a century or more ago. Yes, you can enjoy them and learn from them, but readers don’t expect you to write like them any more than they expect you to write like Shakespeare.

It’s odd that the popular writers of the past used adverbs much more than we do today and were praised for it while modern writers are criticized when they do the same thing. But readers’ needs and expectations change and writers need to keep up. Or even lead those changes.

You have a style, so write according to your style. But never forget the readers. Do you want them finishing your book and coming back for more? Then give them what appeals to them.

Note: When someone advocates a ban on adverb usage, he’s quite likely talking about adverbs ending in -ly rather than all adverbs. Keep this in mind when you see such advice.

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Refresher

What are adverbs? They are modifiers. They modify verbs, adjectives, other adverbs, and even whole sentences.

She dressed provocatively.

She dressed highly provocatively.

He was very passionate.

He sang passionately about his life.

They strode elegantly into the ballroom from somewhere in the back of the building.

The parents stood close to the dog, but their son stayed far away.

Coincidentally, he’d gone to the doctor just before he got the flu.

Her boss was suspiciously friendly. [friendly is an adjective]

Talia was rather peeved her boorish yet rarely absent boss was absent on her birthday.

“I’m rather peeved you missed my birthday party, Kevin,” Talia bitterly complained.

Luckily the rains finally arrived in Tombstone.

Many adverbs end in -ly, but not all of them do. And not all words that end in -ly are adverbs.

Adverbs easily abused by writers include

always

almost

down

fast

hopefully

just

now

often

only

over

really

suddenly

up

very

well

Because these adverbs are so common, they can dilute the impact of the words around them, lulling the reader or causing him to pass by a grouping of words.

If you want words to pop from a sentence, try eliminating the modifiers—both adverbs and adjectives—surrounding them. Instead of muddying up your writing with extra words, make it lean and powerful with precise nouns and explicit verbs.

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My advice, then, is to use adverbs when necessary. But know that you are using them and know why. And be prepared to remove them in order to strengthen your stories.

Be selective when using adverbs with dialogue tags. If I were to ever counsel against adverb use, dialogue tags is where I’d do it. Yet, five or six adverbs used in dialogue tags and sprinkled into a 90,000 word manuscript means those adverbs are going to pop out.

And that might be just what you want them to do.

So . . .

Don’t accept—or offer—a blanket prohibition on one of the parts of speech or a punctuation mark or any other writing tool. But do use each correctly and selectively.

Write well.

Edit with style and with an eye toward impact.

Edit wisely.

***

While a legitimate punctuation mark, the semicolon has been shunned for use in fiction, especially for dialogue.

Is there a legitimate reason semicolons, or any punctuation, can’t be used in fiction?

You won’t find me telling writers not to use a semicolon.

Punctuation is used for clarity, for emphasis, for rhythm. To deny yourself the use of any punctuation mark is to cut yourself off from an option that might serve your sentence, your scene, or your story.

I’d never tell anyone to always cut out the use of a particular word—for example, don’t eliminate all uses of the word that; some are necessary. In the same way I’d never suggest that a punctuation mark doesn’t have its uses.

With minor adjustments to most sentences, commas and colons and periods can all be made to work in place of the semicolon. But the semicolon brings a rhythm to sentences that other punctuation can’t offer.

Sometimes you want three short sentences in a row, each ending with a full stop. Other times you’ll want to connect those sentences into a single one and use commas and a coordinating conjunction to do so. Other times you’ll want the break—or the connection, depending on how you look at it—that a semicolon provides.

When connecting (or separating) independent clauses, sometimes you want the feel that only a semicolon produces. An example—

Elyse was ecstatic about her son’s release from jail; Joe was ambivalent.

The use of the semicolon here shows that the parts of the sentence are related. The semicolon also reveals the author’s style and the viewpoint character’s feelings.

We could also punctuate the same independent clauses other ways—

Elyse was ecstatic about her son’s release from jail. Joe was ambivalent.

Elyse was ecstatic about her son’s release from jail, but Joe was ambivalent.

Each sentence is valid. But the feel is different.

The sentence with the comma and the but has a softer feel, a smoother flow. You’ll often use this construction for your stories to keep the flow moving. But if you want to stop that flow, want to draw attention to a thought or word or event, you can use a period or a semicolon to halt the momentum of a passage or scene.

Too much of any one rhythm, including unimpeded flow and long sentence after long sentence, lulls (or annoys)  the reader. Can I say it bores the reader? It can.

Forcing the reader to pause or stop shakes him out of the stupor he might have eased into, and a forced stop calls attention to the words at the stop point. You are in fact saying, here is something noteworthy, something different from expectations.

Now, if you want to hide information at the same time you reveal it—clues in a mystery, for example—you wouldn’t point them out in this manner. You’d hide those clues in plain sight by placing them in the flow of the narrative, into the flow of thoughts or description. The clues are there and can be easily identified later; they just don’t draw attention to themselves through sentence construction.

But if you want to draw attention to words or phrases, to a character’s thoughts or feelings or to something the character thinks is important, you can use punctuation to do so.

Use the semicolon or the period to interrupt the flow.

Of course you’ll also want to do the opposite. When sentences are choppy, with too many of them interrupted by semicolons, or when you’ve simply used too many short sentences in a row, substitute commas and a coordinating conjunction for the semicolons and periods to smooth the flow. 

You can also use semicolons rather than commas and a coordinating conjunction to combine a series of those short sentences. This is a useful way to break up an annoyingly repetitive rhythm. Only one way, of course. There are others.

The boy wanted a dog. He hoped to get one soon. He’d always wanted his own puppy. He’d never been allowed to keep the strays he’d brought home.

The boy wanted a dog and hoped to get one soon. He’d always wanted his own puppy; he’d never been allowed to keep the strays he’d brought home.

A natural connection must exist, of course, between the two parts of combined sentences in order for the semicolon to be used correctly. But if that connection exists, use the semicolon.

Varying your punctuation marks gives you variety in sentence construction,  breaks from a monotonous rhythm, and a means of drawing attention to particular words.

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A quick Google search will reveal advice from writers and editors and other writing professionals that says to never include semicolons in fiction. I can’t see being so dogmatic. If a punctuation mark serves the story—or if it’s a style trait of the writer—use it.

Writers reveal themselves through the words they use and the way they put those words together—through diction and syntax. If a writer uses semicolons, that’s part of her style. Unless a writer’s choices interfere with the foundations and strengths of a story, I see no reason to mess with that writer’s style. A writer’s use of words and punctuation is integral to her style and her voice.

I’m all for pointing out options. But tell a writer she can’t use semicolons? I think that would be short-sighted and clearly a mistake.

I’m curious to know what others think. Have you been told not to use semicolons or other punctuation? Have you directed your clients away from semicolons? Do you think doing so has served writer and story well?

What about other punctuation marks?

*******

While I won’t tell a writer he can never use a certain punctuation mark, I will offer the advice to not overuse the semicolon or any punctuation. Anything that distracts from the story should go, and too much of any one element is a distraction. 

But don’t deny yourself legitimate ways to get your meaning across just because some curmudgeon has a fit about a particular punctuation mark or word or grammar rule. Yes, failure to adhere to some rules could keep you from being published. Use of a semicolon in novels is not one of those sacrosanct rules.

Use the full range of options, but learn to use grammar and punctuation correctly and effectively. Remember your readers and choose options that enhance their reading experiences. Write compelling fiction that carries your voice and style.

Write well today.

***

Maybe you’re not good with dialogue. Maybe many of your paragraphs start with the same sentence construction. Maybe you forget to give your characters thoughts or emotions.

Perhaps you skip one or two of the sense elements—maybe you skip the sense elements altogether and your characters never see or touch or smell or hear or taste anything. And that means your readers don’t either.

Maybe your weakness is the lack of setting detail or the absence of character habits or quirks. Do your characters pass through scenes without touching anything, floating on air so they don’t crush the gravel underfoot or don’t slide across a newly waxed floor? Do they never pick up physical objects to be used or even fiddled with?

Maybe you’re not visual so you don’t give characters sights to focus on—no colors, no unusual shapes, no arresting anomalies in their story world.

But do consider sights. And colors. And sounds and atmosphere and character emotions.

Consider every element you could possibly add to a story. No, not every story needs an abundance of every story element, but each story needs multiple elements to bring richness and depth.

Make a list of your weaknesses; know what to look for. Learn the places in your stories where you tend to leave out details or dialogue. Learn your favorite sentence constructions and look for ways to vary them for impact.

If you’ve been told your stories are flat or barren, you can fix your next story so it’s neither flat nor barren. If you forget to add a necessary story element, you can always add it in.

Prepare yourself to rewrite at least one draft for the sole purpose of filling in your story gaps, no matter what their source.

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A writer and I were speaking of this not too long ago. We both admitted that since we don’t pay attention to visual details in our own lives, we tend to not include them in our characters’ lives.

But our characters are not us and they need to be a part of their setting. Either they are very comfortable with it—interacting with the buildings and rooms and objects surrounding them—or they are unfamiliar with a new setting in which they find themselves and are alert to every object they see, every sound they hear.

Setting should mean something to the characters and thus to the story. The location of your story scenes should have an impact on that story and on the characters that move through it. Setting should also contribute to tone and to the mood of a scene.

Readers should know where you’ve placed your characters. Give them enough—not overmuch unless that’s done to serve the story—enough to let them picture your characters making their way through your story world.

Setting is not the only detail a writer might forget or ignore or be ignorant of. A writer could just as easily forget to convey the thoughts of a viewpoint character, either through a reporting of those thoughts or through actions or facial expressions based on those thoughts.

A writer could easily overlook secondary characters in a scene with multiple characters, forget them so thoroughly that the reader wonders why they were there in the first place.

Each writer will have his own weaknesses. But those weaknesses don’t need to remain in a finished manuscript. A writer can use one rewrite or editing pass to fold in the element that he always omits in his first or second draft.

If characters never eat, never hear music playing, or never notice the color of anything, use one of your read-thrus to add food, the hint of a song or two, the color of objects, a sunset, a bruise, or even the rosy flush of a lover’s skin.

Should the mention of animals or children be a natural for your plot? Add them in, blending and weaving so it seems they’ve been there all along.

Think about layering and variety so you don’t always have a character responding in the same way to your additions. If a character should notice music, let once instance be to notice a song on the radio, another a nightclub singer, and another a child practicing scales in a distant room.

Give your character a different reaction to each mention of music—the fact that a character is noticing the music at all reveals his interest to the reader.

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While you’ll have your own list of elements you forget or overlook, one that will change over your writing career, I’ve included one to get you started. Don’t limit yourself to these items. Instead, use them as a springboard to other story elements or items you might have forgotten or ignored.

I’ve arranged the list by general topics, but many of the items could be found on multiple lists.

For setting and background—

Sight, scent, sound, taste, touch

Color—visual color as well as emotional color

Setting description

Background characters going about their normal business

Background events that don’t direct story events but add to atmosphere

For characters—

Dialogue

Character thoughts

Character emotions

Character reactions

Character interaction with setting and with the props of a setting

Character habits and quirks

Character motivation

Character goals

Conflict

Humor

Annoyances

For plot—

Highs and lows

A climax

A resolution

Fast-paced scenes

Slow-paced scenes

Moments for readers to catch their breaths

Surprises

Hooks at the ends and beginnings of chapters

Events worth following

Cause and effect

For mechanics/technical issues—

Variety in sentence construction

Variety in word choice

Word choices that fit characters

Variety in punctuation

Variety in scene and chapter length

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Weaknesses won’t always remain weaknesses, especially if you go back and layer in what you’ve omitted for a couple of manuscripts. Because you’ll have thought about the issues and reworked them a couple of times, you’ll start including, in your first draft, what had once been absent. Until you do, make a point of adding those elements in a structured way, not leaving their eventual conclusion to chance.

Of course, stories can have too much of any element as well as a lack. But that’s an issue for another article.

For now, concentrate on what’s lacking from the early drafts of your manuscripts and use rewrites to add in elements where there’s a lack. Be thorough, but not heavy-handed—unless a heavy hand suits the story.

Fill in the blanks in your manuscripts without feeling as if you’re a bad writer for having to do so. Every writer has to rewrite; rewriting is where idea takes on flesh and becomes more than words on paper.

Tackle your rewrites with purpose. Put knowledge of your own weaknesses to work and create good story.

***

I thought I’d use this time of reflection to point out some of the articles at The Editor’s Blog. Articles you might have missed. Articles you might want to share with others. Articles that meant something special for me.

Most Popular
The most popular articles at The Editor’s Blog are—

Duties of an Editor

Punctuation in Dialogue

Format Your Novel for Submission

More visitors to the blog come specifically for these articles than any others.  Other articles may be more popular for a day or two, especially if they’re linked at Facebook or Twitter or on another blog (and thanks for all the links!), but these three articles are read day in and day out without fail.

Two other articles that get a lot of reads are—

Creating Emotion in the Reader

Sex in Fiction—Do They or Don’t They

Chances are that if you’re a regular visitor to the blog, you’ve already read these five. If not, you might want to visit them.

Articles I consider must-reads
While I write all my articles as a means of helping or encouraging either writers or editors, I do have a few I consider must-reads for either or both writers and editors. These include—

Checklist for Editors

Clear and Simple Writing Advice

Conflict—Beyond Arguments and Fist Fights

Edit in an Instant? Ain’t Gonna Happen

Beyond the Basics—Push the Story and Push Yourself

Engage Readers Through Character Reaction

How to Write a Novel

I could go on and on, but you can find the articles you need by searching the blog. These, however, are some you might want to visit or revisit.

My Favorites
Yes, I have favorite articles. The list is not always the same from day to day, but here are a few I think you’d enjoy—

Setting—The Time and Place of Story

The Princess Bride—Storytelling Done Right

Write with Fire

Don’t Let Your Writing be Ordinary

Take Me Somewhere New—Tell Me a Story

Novelist as Director

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I hope you enjoy each visit to The Editor’s Blog. I sometimes offer craft suggestions, sometimes offer encouragement. I hope both types of articles help you with your writing and/or editing career.

To search a list of all the articles, visit the Archives where articles are listed in alphabetical order.

*******

I sincerely hope you made strides toward your writing goals last year and are encouraged to meet more of them in 2012.

I wish you good writing and great editing.

Write well. Write often. And edit wisely.

***

And adults who are denied either plot ways to get what they want by another method or they’re plotting revenge against the individual responsible for the denial.

You can manipulate your characters—even the sweetest, most agreeable ones—into heinous behavior by denying them what they most want.

And not just denying them, but promising or hinting that they’ll get it if they first do something, say something, be something. And when they give all to do or say or be that something and you still deny them what they want, well then you can certainly see what kind of person those characters are by their reactions.

Use denial to increase conflict between characters and between one character and his world.

Use denial to goad characters into rash acts, into acting without thought to consequence or to the considerations of others.

Pour on the denials so that when the character thinks he can achieve a second desire in place of the first, he is thwarted there too. And deny him again when he thinks trying harder should bring success.

Denial makes us dig in and push to get what we want, what’s been promised, what is our due.

Denial also makes us angry. Makes us irrational. Makes us rash.

Denial is marvelous for stories. Use it to stir up characters, to make a character unlike his everyday self, the person he is when his desires aren’t threatened. Use denial to show what a character is made of, what he values, the lengths he’ll go to satisfy himself at the expense of the desires of others. At the expense of his reputation. Perhaps at the expense of his very self.

________________________________

 Can you see how denial can work against a character but work for the story?

Characters who are denied either retrench and try harder or they look for ways around whatever blocks them from the object of their desire. They could also seemingly give up in the hopes of tricking other characters, but if they truly give up, there’s not much more you can do with that denial. If characters are thwarted and do give up, the conflict is eased and the tension diffused. Instead of increasing conflict, you’ll have erased it.

But characters who either keep pushing—as if strength or character alone might propel them past the denial point—or who look for ways around the denial keep readers interested. They keep the conflict high and they add trouble to problem to predicament.

Repeated denials allow characters to develop character—and perseverance and drive and boldness.

Denial matures characters. It can also lead them down paths, both for good and evil, that they’d never imagine traveling had they not been denied.

Variety of Denials
To introduce variety, vary the type of denial or change the method of denial. If Johnny Orlando at first can’t travel to Europe because his family can’t afford it, make the second denial of the trip come when he’s got money and opportunity but a pregnant wife on bed-rest and two toddlers running around his home.

Or maybe Marsden only wants to be left alone to paint in his cottage by the sea. Deny him that solitude by giving him a neighbor—in the only other house for 10 miles—who can’t stand being alone, who suffers from insomnia, and who thinks the artist needs pampering with food and wine those longs nights he’s up painting. Deny Marsden any peace by having him knock the neighbor down the stairs—accidentally of course—breaking her leg on one side and spraining her wrist on the other. Since she has no one to care for her, Marsden, feeling guilty, must of course offer his own home for rehab.

Vary the intensity of the denial, the character that the denial comes through, the reason for the denial, and the effect of the denial on the character. That is, don’t repeat yourself.

Make the denials logical for the story; think them through ahead of time.

Make characters face denials of different types and for different situations or different desires at the same time.

Build up the effect of denials so that by the time the character is ready to blow, all it takes is the simplest of denials to get him steaming.

Reveal a character’s personality by the way he handles denial. Not every character is upset by every denial, especially at the story’s beginning. Yet, if he’s quick to be agitated by someone telling him he can’t have what he wants, let him be consistent. And give him an antagonist, or even a friend, who is quick to tick him off just to watch him get angry or get creative with his responses.

It’s true that some people agitate others just to see their reactions. You can write this kind of character into your story to stir up your protagonist.

Since even the most accomplished man or woman doesn’t always get what he or she wants, build denial into your stories. Give characters a reason to push back or to go outside the law or outside the accepted manner of obtaining something they want or feel is their due.

Tell them no and then watch them pitch a fit or get even. Watch them achieve their goals by pushing against barriers all the way to breakthrough and success.

Or watch them push through those barriers to find spectacular failure.

Make them determined. Make them selfish, in at least one area of their lives. Make them stubborn. Make them do what they swore they’d never do.

Make them hurt others to get what they want. Make them regret that they hurt those they love. Make them fear they’ll do the same thing again.

Make them proud of their stubbornness. Make them ashamed. Make them sorrowful.

Let them accept the blame for their actions and the catastrophic results of those actions.

Let them cast blame on others.

Give them insight and character growth based on what happened when they pushed past denial.

Allow them to pretend that repeated denials and their response to denial never affected them.

Let them learn something.

Let them pretend to learn nothing.

*******

Use repeated denials to drive your character where he needs to go, to levels of higher emotion and deeper personal needs.

Use denials to set the character on his story course and set the reader on edge.

Deny your character what he wants and what he needs. And then watch him go after those wants and needs with determination and ingenuity and passion.

Deny your characters what they want, but give your readers everything.

Write good story today.

Write reaction-provoking denials.

***

So, we spend much of our early years learning how to stifle emotion, honesty—because you can’t tell Mrs. Arlington that her dress is hideous—and our confusion.

There are individuals, of course, who ignore their parents’ training or whose parents don’t encourage polite manners. These children are the ones who pitch fits in the grocery store or who bully other kids on the playground. We’re not going to talk about these people, children whose emotions run wild and who grow into adults whose emotions run wild. Or into adults who use their volatile emotions or the mere threat of them to control those around them.

No, I want to talk about people—in our case, characters—who hold back their responses.

Women who’ve been trained to be polite rather than assertive.

Men who are told tears—and even the grief that prompts them—are unmanly.

Men and women who don’t speak their minds over matters either insignificant or noteworthy because to do so would be impolite or rude.

People who’ve been repressing their emotions or their thoughts, their preferences or dislikes or their opinions,  for years. For decades. For so long that they have no room for one more repressed thought or unvoiced emotion.

Characters so close to letting loose and breaking down that one nudge more will send them over the edge.

Ah . . . Can’t you see it? Feel the tension? Sense the volatility of the middle manager who’s been forced to stand behind others for his entire career, waiting to make his move, waiting for recognition. Never causing a fuss, never venting even when he was wronged. Can you see him, pushing down and pushing deep his emotions? And can you see him at his moment of triumph, when he should be finally making his mark, can you see what happens when his grand idea is shot down or he’s asked to once again support the plan of a lesser man? For the good of the company, of course. Maybe for the good of the industry or for the sake of the planet.

What happens when this man can’t take any more, won’t take any more? Does he go quietly into the night?

Not if he’s a character in a novel.

No, our middle manager explodes at his wife, pre-empting the news of her promotion, her pregnancy, her cancer diagnosis.

He hits the tipping point, but it’s the worst conceivable time for him to lose it. He gets a big scene—spewing his disappointment, spilling his rage—and the story tension soars. Then when his wife is sympathetic but also shares her news, and his needs must once again take the back seat to someone else’s, they go at each other and conflict jumps.

Such conflict—and the resulting tension between characters and within the reader—creates involving, absorbing, unforgettably powerful fiction.

Or is that involving, absorbing, powerfully unforgettable fiction?

When a character rages, when he falls apart and lets go and breaks down, then we’ve got a scene that engages readers. That rips at their own emotions. That touches and moves them. That breaks and shakes and shatters them.

When the reader has drawn close to that character, when he can empathize with him, the breakdown is even more disturbing or moving.

It can even be cathartic.

Catharsis is the purging of emotions, usually when those emotions have built to an explosion point. Catharsis is a cleansing, a washing clean and clear.

Characters who explode—in rage or grief or fear—give themselves a release as well as providing a release for the reader.

You’ve watched such scenes in movies, when the star gets a chance for a tour de force moment, when he explodes with passion and reveals the true character he’s been hiding for most of the story.

Such scenes can become unbearable to the point they’re difficult to watch. The power of the released emotion—the long-repressed emotion—pushes every button of the audience. And it pushes the character.

Pushes him to say what he’s never said, what he’d been afraid to say, what he probably, in polite society, would never reveal. But when he gets to throw out and throw up the seething repressed words and feelings and truths he’s been hiding, wow. The release changes him. Brings him peace or at least some relief.

Maybe brings him guilt. Maybe healing. Maybe more trouble if his release comes at the expense of his boss or a foe or even a child who doesn’t understand why Dad went wacko for a while.

You can include such moments in the lives of your characters, moments when the inner person comes to the surface and reveals himself without apology and without fear. Moments when the repressed is freed. Moments when characters let ‘er rip with no thought to consequence.

Consider giving your protagonist—maybe your antagonist—such a scene. Let your lead character cast off society’s rules and be honest with himself and those closest to him. Use a character’s catharsis to send the story in a new direction.

Necessities for a satisfying character rant . . .

Reader identification with the character—be sure the rant doesn’t occur too early in the story or before readers empathize with the character

A character who has something to rant about, a topic that will engage other characters and/or the reader

A character who hasn’t already been ranting or breaking down throughout the story—a passionate catharsis will be most striking if it comes from a character who’s been constantly repressing rather than venting

Consequences, negative and positive, to the character or those he loves as a result of the character’s blowup

The character and/or story moves into a new direction as a result of a character’s emotional release

The moment or scene of a rant is of a sufficient duration without going so far that you lose the reader’s attention or his ability to empathize

Word choices that convey the emotion the character is feeling and word choices that elicit the emotion you’re looking for from the reader

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Strongly consider giving your main character his own tour de force scene, one that readers will remember because it not only touched their emotions, it pulled and twanged and stomped on them. Consider such a scene especially if your character hasn’t done much changing or emoting through the story.

Consider such a scene if the story doesn’t need another action scene that arises from outside forces but could use one that’s prompted by character needs.

Consider an emotional cleansing if it’s past time for your character to speak his mind.

Shake up your readers by shaking loose your characters. Make readers witnesses to the most personal moment of a character’s life. Let them see. experience, know a character at his most vulnerable.

Make a strong character human by allowing him to break down in a spectacular fashion, in a way that changes him. In a way that opens the eyes of those who thought they knew him.

Show your tough guy’s emotions, your intellectual’s heart, your timid mouse’s backbone and passion.

Let truth emerge through unrestrained words and unfiltered emotions. Let the character make himself foolish and not care, at least in the moment of his release. (Afterwards you can give him remorse and embarrassment and all sorts of painful fallout.) Push beyond your own limits to make yourself uncomfortable at the raw emotion you let spill out of your pen and your head and your heart.

*******

Allow your characters to tell off the world and allow yourself to be impolite, to butt in where no one belongs, to tell secrets that shouldn’t be brought to light.

Give your characters a catharsis.

Write good fiction.

Write powerful rants.

***