What’s going on here?
What’s going on here?
Write about this old man’s past.
Where does he live? What has he done in his life?
Is there really silence in a scene you’re writing?
We’ll often write that there was a silence, often between two characters or when someone is listening out for something, but is there really silence? Are we outside or indoors? Is there a clock in the room? Any passing traffic? You should consider these things in order to keep your reader in a scene.
If you wrote there was a silence when your characters are standing on the hard shoulder of the M25, it would be difficult to believe. There can be silence between them (neither speaking) but the background sound should be passing traffic.
I had my ears syringed a while back (excess wax build-up after the winter … in case you wanted to know) and the resulting clarity of sound was remarkably enhanced. Every click, tick, and shh of speech was noticeable and there were sounds I’d forgotten I couldn’t hear: birdsong outside when I’m indoors; the prolonged tonal note of two glasses clinked together; water going down the plug hole, the rustle of my own clothing.
It set me to thinking of the importance of sound in the world and the importance of nuances of sound in a story — not just the sound itself. How long does the dying note of two glasses clinked together go on for — what effect are you seeking if you use this sound? How different are the sounds of clothing depending on the material worn — and why would it matter in a particular scene? Is the water in the plughole gurgling or slurping — and what might that tell you about someone’s plumbing, and why would you be telling it?
It’s the small things that create setting and place and make them believable rather than the more obvious, such as birdsong outside, the wind in the trees, cars going past. There are many more sounds that we subconsciously pick up, but don’t often notice, in our surroundings; the more obscure sounds that can lend reality to a scene.
Sounds alter depending on atmospheric conditions. Foggy days can make sounds muted and a thundery day makes them crisper and closer. Do you remember what it sounded like outside when you woke up to your first deep snowfall?
Don’t forget, using sounds in your story might be purely for setting the scene and giving the reader a picture of where they are, or you might be using sound as clues to what is going on in a scene or in a character’s thinking. You still need to ask yourself why you are using a particular sound as well as thinking about any other element you’re using in a scene or story.
What are those little sounds that tell you where you are, the ones you don’t usually notice or remember but ones everyone will identify with? I’ll start you off with a few suggestions but it’s up to you to listen to sounds around you and remember them.
Try writing 50 or so words about any sound you hear. Try describing it and putting it into some sort of context.
Don’t forget Chekhov’s advice:
… every element in a story must be necessary, and irrelevant elements should be removed; elements should not appear to make “false promises” by never coming into play.
This is why you need to think about every element you put in your story. What does it mean to the story and how are you going to use it and why?
Real people (you and I) form their characters and behaviour over time, but writers are creating ready-formed lives and there is a lot to think about and invent to make your character — and your story — believable in the reader’s eyes.
Let’s take a look at some examples of what I mean. Continue reading
What is meant by Active or Passive voice?
Active voice is clear and direct. It stamps out what is happening in a dynamic way. It tells you who or what is doing the action (subject) and who or what they are doing it to (object).
Passive voice can be clear as to what is happening to the subject but usually sounds weaker as a statement. It loses the strength you want to give to your words (and strength in your words is important when you are writing for others).
Let’s take a few examples to show you what I mean. Continue reading
Our facial expressions give away more of what we’re thinking than we thought. New research shows that people’s eyes, in particular, are a dead giveaway.
The function behind a facial expression mirrors the person’s emotional state. So if someone is narrowing their eyes as if they are scrutinising something they are likely to be feeling thoughtful; wondering about something. If you feel as though you are being scrutinised then you probably are.
In Psychological Science we read that:
The research reveals, for example, that people consistently associate narrowed eyes – which can enhance visual discrimination – with discrimination-related emotions including disgust and suspicion.
I wrote a story a while back about a couple going through the break-up of their marriage. I wanted dialogue to tell most of the tale rather than narrative.
As I write the characters into existence I felt as though I knew them and could almost feel what they were going through. It gave me the confidence to write strong dialogue because I just knew what they would be saying to each other.
I could feel what they were feeling; the hesitation in parting, the longing for each other and what they once had, the distance that had grown around them. This gave me the confidence to describe their internal world in ways that showed you, through their actions and body language, what was going on rather than telling you. It makes it more interesting to the reader to get to know your characters themselves. This is how we do it in real life; we all make judgements about people without being told about them by someone else.
There is a book entitled, ‘The New Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain’, which teaches you to see in a different way.
Where drawing is concerned we often draw what we think we see (left brain) rather than what we can actually see (right brain).
For example, one of the exercises asks you to draw the spaces around and between the object you want to draw (negative space) rather than trying to draw the thing itself.