Narrative grammar (an exercise)
One of the most important lessons I learnt nearly twenty years ago was from Samuel R. Delany (aka Chip). Chip quoted Theodore Sturgeon on description (I’m paraphrasing, because I’m too lazy to look it up): Imagine your world and then move your character through it.
This is a bit more difficult than it sounds. It involves making decisions about the world, then about what the character notices, and making sure this happens in the right physical as well as emotional order. In other words, you must make sure the character–and therefore the reader–doesn’t get things back to front.
Most of the time the order of events is very easy to get right. For example, in this sentence:
He closed the book he had picked up after he had entered the room and sat down.
it’s obvious how the sentence should go: The man enters the room, sits down, picks up a book, then closes it. Simple.
Why don’t you have a go at rewriting it here? Change the POV to subjective (we are inside him, we feel and think what he feels and thinks). Get specific: describe, for example, a room that smells of coffee, bare feet on a Turkey carpet, the whisper of very old vellum pages turned with care. You’ll find that specificity can lay the foundation for a whole character (more on that another time).
Here are the two sentences Chip gave me in 1988 and told me to rewrite in the correct order. (They’re lifted from a John Brunner SF story and made artfully worse.)
Through the huge picture window, just on the other side of the chairs set haphazardly over the gold rug around the board table, Harris could see the great and silver buildings of the great and silver city as soon as he pushed open the intricate metal handles on the heavy boardroom door. The sensor circuit had transpared the soaring panes as soon as he had walked in.
To this day, I think of cleaning up narrative grammar as Delanyizing my work.
So give it a go, here in the comments or at home for yourself. Delanyize the paragraph. Visualize the character, Harris, going (walking? running? crawling?) up to those doors and stepping into the room. Try to imagine what order he would do and see things. Use as many sentences as you need. You can leave out some of the extra adjectives if you like. Keep it in third person objective (image you are a camera six inches above Harris’s head). What do you see? Take no more than five minutes. (Purely for your amusement, here is how I fixed it all those years ago. I haven’t changed a word.)
One of the most common narrative grammar mistakes is parallel construction: Running up the stairs, he opened the bedroom door. Cool–except it’s impossible. No one can open an upstairs door as they run upstairs–unless their arms are forty feet long. I think of this this parallel construction as -ing disease, because of those pesky participles. It’s a pox on good writing. Check your work; get rid of the evil -ings.
Take a look at this:
She crept into the room, opening the door carefully so it wouldn’t squeak. Approaching the bed, she saw he was still asleep. She undressed and slipped into bed, carefully closing the door behind her.
She must open the door *before* she creeps into the room. She must close the door behind her *before* she ’slips’ into bed. (Plus, to return to specificity for a moment, who is ’she’? What is their relationship? I don’t know how old these people are, how long they’ve known each other, what the room is like, whether ’she’ even likes him. Was she fully dressed or in a robe? And why use ‘bed’ and ‘carefully’ twice?) Feel free to play with this one at home.
This paragraph is almost as bad:
The woman with the pink hair startled Brad. She wore motorcycle boots. When she came around the corner, the contrast with the Armani suit made him blink.
At least it has a little specificity. The woman’s hair is pink. She wears biker boots and Armani. Brad has a name. He is capable of surprise. But how can Brad be surprised by her pink hair before she’s even turned the corner? Again, play with this one on your own time.
Here is a paragraph that is more subtly broken.
The fireworks exploded into giant stars, streaking up into the sky like small rockets. “That was awesome!” Stan cried out as the last one exploded into a blue and green dragon over his head.
Have a go at fixing it. Add as much or as little detail as you feel like. Have fun–after all, that’s the point.
Posted by: Nicola
Here’s the first. I’ll try the others later.
Chumley steeled himself, then wrapped a gloved hand around the doorknob and pushed. The room was as he remembered it — sadly under-furnished. A cot with perfect hospital corners. A second hand dresser. And all those books piled in colorful disarray.
Farnsworth with his great sagging belly and pale, stick-figure legs, was lying on the bed in only boxers and black socks, a book open by his side. His jowled face was turned sideways on a pillow stained with pinkish foam. Farnsworth would not be attending mass today.
Chumley sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the book, a tooled-leather edition of Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities. The last lines were underlined in red, “it is a far, far better rest that I go to…” Chumley closed the book and set it aside, confident now that this was murder.
2:
Harris hesitated outside the massive boardroom door, hands on the intricate metal handles. In one motion he pushed them open and strode onto the plush golden rug. The sensor circuit transpared the soaring windows, revealing chairs set haphazardly around the board table, and beyond, the great and silver buildings of the city.
The first paragraph is just right.
The second paragraph is good–all the necessary parts are there–but needs rearranging so that Chumley’s eyes (and ours) follow a clear line: down or up, doesn’t matter. Right now the line of sight begins at the belly, goes down to the legs, back to the boxers, down to the feet, up to the side (the book), up again to the face, sideways to the pillow.
Try him lying on the bed naked but for black socks and boxers. Book face down on his belly. Face turned sideways and pillow all pink. One smooth line. Or, you could zoom in: fat, half naked, book, face, blood. But, again, make it one smooth line. Avoid going back and forth from bed to legs back to bed back to socks.
You’ve got some lovely pathos going on here, and Chumley’s tender dispassion. Nice job.
Great post — thank you. I am a very visualization-oriented writer, almost cinematic, and this is a fine exercise. Posting this link to my Gotham students tonight!
Thanks, Nicola. This any better or should I simply start with “Farnsorth lay?”
Chumley steeled himself, then wrapped a gloved hand around the doorknob and pushed. He was met with the sour-sweet stench of alcohol and vomit; he swallowed hard and breathed through his mouth. The room was as he remembered it — sadly under-furnished. A cot with perfect hospital corners. A second hand dresser. And all those books piled in colorful disarray.
Chumley remembered Farnsworth as a churlish leprechaun with sagging belly and stick-figure legs, but now… Farnsworth lay on the bed in only black socks and boxers, a book open across his withered chest. His jowled face was turned sideways on a pillow stained with pinkish foam. Farnsworth would not be attending mass today.
I don’t think you need “He was met…his mouth.” steeled says it all.
Your instincts on the second para. are good: cut the first sentence. For emphasis, you could chop the “His jowled…foam” sentence in two. His jowled face was turned sideways. The pillow was stained with pinkish foam.
Thanks, Daniel. I hope they enjoy it.
I kept it short and sweet:
.
As soon as he pushed open the intricate metal handles on the heavy boardroom door, Harris could see the great and silver buildings of the great and silver city through the huge picture window. The window’s soaring panes, automatically transpared as he had walked in, retained a slight tinge of grey around their edges. Between there and here there lay haphazardly-set chairs clustered around the board table, pinning down the gold rug and obscuring its pattern.
And no, I’m not at all bitter about the job I just left . . . :P.
Jo — I’m looking forward to seeing what you do with the “He closed the book he had picked up after he had entered the room and sat down,” exercise. I’m sure with your imagination you can give us something intriguing.
My mind is in mush mode due to being a bit overwhelmed at the moment. I am having a hard time being subjective in third person (any hints would be appreciated), so this is a rather objective rendering.
.
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Jens delicately re-rolled the parchment that she had picked up after ducking through the wreckage of the library’s doorway and sat down on the cracked basalt remains of a gargoyle head which had once adorned the roof of the building. She brushed fine debris off of the date carved on the scroll’s core. Forty-three twenty-seven; twelve years after the end of the fifth plague; the year of Zhorel’s crossing, of the Chainships and Fenji the Betrayer. Outside the glass-sharded window frames, the Vaernae that Zhorel had saved lay in ruins and the massive ships waited, humming. Within days, the entire planet Gedrel would be dead from seismic throes. The Freneti, whom Zhorel had once fought and Fenji once aided, had developed coreplex technology after all. ‘No personal possessions’. Jens replaced the scroll tenderly in what was left of a cubby, and made her way out through the ruined doorway, no longer a Vaernaean or even a Gedrelian, but merely an evacuee on ship ten fifty-three.
Jo —
Great detail and sense of pathos. I wish I had your imagination!
My one qualm is with “that she had picked up after ducking through the wreckage of the library’s doorway…”
This phrase is out of order with the rest of the paragraph. Strictly speaking, Jens “ducked through the wreckage of the library doorway” first, then “picked up the scroll,” and presumably read it. Putting things in temporal (or spacial) order makes it easier for the reader to follow.
If these details are important, move them into the previous paragraph, perhaps showing Jens approaching the ruined library, ducking through the doorway, sifting through the wreckage till she finds the scroll.
If the details aren’t important, simply strike that line. Here’s my take on the first sentence:
Jens slumped down on the cracked remains of a basalt gargoyle which had once adorned the roof of the library. Carefully, she re-rolled the delicate parchment.
@ Dianne – I see (or at least I think I do, hard to say right now :P), thank you. I’ll have another go at it after work :).
Jo — You might wait a bit and see if someone else has another point of view.
@ Dianne – ok :).
Hey, Jo, I’m going to look at your first exercise.
First of all, I’d change the initial sentence to, As soon as he pushed open the heavy boardroom door, Harris saw the great and silver buildings of the city through the huge picture window. As you can see, I’ve cut most of the adjectives. The point of the paragraph (at least as I read it) is the soaring city view and the fact that it’s a boardroom. The intricate metal handles are just a detail; they add nothing. (Though, if you were working in 3rd person subjective, it would be an opportunity for character exploration via some sensory detail.)
But now we immediately run into a problem. You have: The window’s soaring panes, automatically transpared as he had walked in… This doesn’t work: how could he see the city through the window as soon as he pushed open the doors? He had not, at that point, walked in, and so the window had not yet transpared.
And finally, take a careful look at your last sentence. Here is very much a subjective POV term. Also, you could tighten things up a little. So, for example, Chairs set hapzardly around the board table obscured the pattern on the gold rug.
Does this make sense?
@ Nicola –
Yes, thank you for your help. I’ve been having a heck of a time cognitively for the last few days and it’s taking me a few tries to understand things. Sorry I got confused & thanks for your patience.
I think I’ll skip this one… Too confuzzling… That and I’m going to be gone a week and wont be able to read my feedback anyway.
Donna –
It’ll still be here next week if you want to try it when you get back! Have fun, wherever you are! :D
I don’t know if I’m going to be on for a while guys, I’m just really upset right now. I might have you euthanize one of my fish and their like babies to me (yes I know I’m pathetic don’t judge me) If I get it I get it but I don’t know.
um To, not you before euthanize
{{{Donna}}} Very sorry about the fish. Hope everything works out for you.
First off, I promise never to respond to a challenge when I am that brain-fogged ever again.
Here is my rewrite for the first exercise:
Pushing open the heavy boardroom door, Harris stepped into the room. Beyond the board table and its ring of haphazardly placed chairs, the picture window transpared as his footsteps tripped sensor circuits hidden beneath the gold rug. Through the window’s huge pane he could see the great and silver buildings of the city.
Wow, that’s much better. You could make it even cleaner by chopping that second sentence in two:
Pushing open the heavy boardroom door, Harris stepped into the room. Beyond the board table and its ring of haphazardly placed chairs loomed a blank picture window. As he crossed the gold rug, he tripped hidden sensor circuits. The window transpared and he saw the great and silver buildings of the city.
There are a million different ways to rewrite this one. Keep having fun (because that’s, y’know, the point).
Cool :). I was trying to chop that sentence in two myself, but I couldn’t get a good flow. Thank you for your help.
Well done, Jo! Keep writing!
And here is the second:
(And here’s to hoping I did the italics thing correctly, my apologies if I didn’t.)
.
Jens ducked through a gap in the wrecked library’s entrance, covering her nose with her tunic and holding her gill flaps tightly closed against the still-settling dust. As her eyes adjusted to the pattern of light and shadow, she spied a spool of parchment, partially unrolled, lying across a pile of rubble. She picked it up, then made her way across the ruined floor to the cracked basalt head of a gargoyle and sat down. She carefully re-rolled the parchment, brushing fine debris off the date carved on the end of its core. Forty-three twenty-seven; twelve years after the end of the fifth plague; the year of Zhorel’s crossing, of the Chainships and Fenji the Betrayer. Beyond the glass-sharded window frames, the Vaernae that Zhorel had saved lay in ruins and the massive ships waited, humming. Within days, the entire planet Gedrel would be dead from seismic throes. The Freneti, whom Zhorel had once fought and Fenji once aided, had developed coreplex technology after all. No personal possessions. Jens reluctantly slid the ancient parchment into what was left of a cubby. She made her way back through the ruined doorway, no longer a Vaernaean or even a Gedrelian, but merely an evacuee on ship ten fifty-three.
And yes, I’m having fun – I’ve been working on that planet since high school and it’s high time I got back to writing about it. Trust the freakin’ Freneti to go and destroy it . . .
@ Dianne – Thank you, I plan to :).
Jo –
Much more linear / easier to follow.
Never trust a Freneti. ;D
@ Dianne – Thanks :).
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Quote
““Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon. – E.L. Doctorow.
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