Grammar Girl: Writing Concisely (Part 2)

I really wanted to figure out how to SHOW my students the power of writing concisely. So I told them about my Fiction class in college, the one during which I took my first real stabs at fiction writing. I wrote a story about my summer camp, a place that was special to me, and thought I'd written something fairly pretty. After reading it, my professor decided it would make a perfect exemplar for our upcoming class on writing concisely/word choice. He handed out a copy to every student and asked them to do just one thing: get rid of the words the story doesn't need. I thought this would mean maybe five or six words. But really it meant more like 50%.

I hated to show this example to my students, because the writing is horrifyingly bad. I really can't believe I thought so highly of this paragraph. I can't believe no one mocked me--I mean, I'm thankful no one did, but wow. But sharing it with students also (I hope) showed them the power and importance of critique for anyone who's serious about writing.

So this is the paragraph I started out with:

Swift walked through the mist of a late August summer morning. The lush green leaves of oaks, cedars, and poplars shifted gently in an infinitesimal breeze. Thick tufts of foliage hanging from forked branches twittered with the cacophony of cackling birds. Through small gaps in the forest canopy, lines of soft golden light filtered through, and slanted slivers of pale green and yellow cut through the air. Electric green moss crept around the roots and edges of the forest floor. It had rained the night before and the forest’s thick carpet of dead leaves was drying. Their crinkled white and brown spots gave off the acrid smell of wet mold and ancient stories. Swift’s feet pattered softly up the dusty path that wound through the forest like a creek would, babbling over small rocks and fallen branches. She walked without seeing; she could have closed her eyes and walked the path from memory. The putter of her feet was barely perceptible as she traversed the path that would lead her to the top of the valley. (176 words)

This is what the class did to it:

Swift walked through the mist of a late August summer morning. The lush green leaves of oaks, cedars, and poplars shifted gently in an infinitesimal breeze. Thick tufts of foliage hanging from forked branches twittered with the cacophony of cackling birds. Through small gaps in the forest canopy, lines of soft golden light filtered through, and slanted slivers of pale green and yellow cut through the air. Electric green moss crept around the roots and edges of the forest floor. It had rained the night before and the forest’s thick carpet of dead leaves was drying. Their crinkled white and brown spots gave off the acrid smell of wet mold and ancient stories. Swift’s feet pattered softly up the dusty path that wound through the forest like a creek would, babbling over small rocks and fallen branches. She walked without seeing; she could have closed her eyes and walked the path from memory. The putter of her feet was barely perceptible as she traversed the path that would lead her to the top of the valley. (176)

And this is what I ended up with:

Swift walked through the woods on a summer morning. Lines of soft light fell through the canopy, lighting up the path that stretched out in front her. It had rained the night before and the leaf carpet was drying. It gave off the acrid smell of wet mold and ancient stories. Swift’s feet pattered up the dusty path that wound up to the top of the valley. She walked without seeing; she could have closed her eyes and walked the path from memory. (80 words)

I was crushed by this exercise, of course. I thought the class was trying to kill all of my lovely description, all of my well-crafted alliteration. But looking back I know that was the most life-changing critique I ever recieved. Because my first paragraph was completely awful, and if they hadn't showed me why, I might never have understood what it means to write well. Writing well doesn't always mean pretty passages and lots of words: it means keeping the words that matter, and getting rid of those that are getting in the way of what you're really trying to say.

Someone Save Me (From Myself)

Life gets tough sometimes. So much so that we want to disappear.

Some people disappear with naughty things like booze and random dalliances with muscly strangers. Me? I read. I've always thought this was a fantastically wholesome habit. What's better for a hurting spirit than a good 'ole dip in the literary pond? But then I started reading when I should have been doing other things. Like applying for jobs. And working on my writing. And eating proper meals off plates.

I read to get away from the stuff I don't want to deal with. Sometimes that means I'm spending over half a day reading instead of being a productive member of society. And I find myself wondering: is there a point when a book addiction becomes bad for you? Has that point been reached when you try to read and do dishes at the same time? Or when you actually contemplate skipping a shower because hygiene takes up valuable reading time?

My name is Kate Armstrong, and I'm a readaholic.

Buckeyed

I don't get many visitors in Brisbane - I'm don't know why. Australia is spectacular. I know there are poisonous things here and there, but there are also large lizards and cute bats and stunning sunsets and the most amazing tropical breezes. There are clear, warm beaches, funny accents and wedges with sweet chili sauce. Plus, I make a pretty good hostess. I may not have a bed for visitors to crash on, but I do have these.

Because I made them.

They are called Buckeyes. I found them here.

They involve peanut butter, cream cheese, and graham crackers. They also involve a heap ton of sugar.

You don't even need to bake them. You roll them into balls and dip them in chocolate.

They are by far one of the best things I've ever put in my mouth. Like Reese's except eighteen times better. And homemade, so you know they're made with love.

So come on over to my place. I'll keep some Buckeyes in the freezer for you. Though I don't guarantee how long they'll last.

To Be or Not To Be (a Pirate)?

I've always been kind of obsessed with pirates, before Pirates of the Caribbean made them cool once more. The old school kind who (theoretically) wore bright tights and who (actually) chopped people's fingers off and fed them to the sharks. I've done a lot of pirate recreating in my time, making comments about said tights that will see me mocked until the end of time. Old-school pirates are a fun idea- as long as you don't think about their methods too hard...

... which brings me to the real subject of this post. PiratING. That hot-button, unlawful act that nobody condones, but that almost everybody does at some point. Well, not everybody, but definitely my Manfriend (shh, don't tell the Pirate Police). My male companion has taken pirating to near-professional levels, a state of affairs that has led to several heated discussions about property rights and artistic integrity.

The last of these discussions revolved around Trueblood. I have a deep, abiding love for this series. I dutifully paid full price for the first season and was patiently waiting for the second to come out in Australia. Of course, it wasn't going to come out here until it was done airing in the U.S. (and honestly, of COURSE people are going to pirate when they make us wait... but that's a rant for another post). So I was surprised- even tantalized- when Manfriend told me that we could HAVE the second season at the same time America did. All it would take was the click of his mouse, and there they would be, all in a sexy little row. So of course, I let him do it, vowing to him that I would buy the second season when it came out on DVD.

"Why?" he asked, looking puzzled and slightly exasperated. "We'll already have all the episodes in HD. Why waste money on a series you already have?"

"Because," I said, arms akimbo (GOD I love that word), "Time and money and artistic effort and love went into the making of this program, and because I love the end product so, I want to support it by paying for it."

"You know," he said, in his I'm-humoring-your-absurdity-because-I-love-you tone, "it doesn't cost them nearly as much to produce those DVD's as they charge. It's a rip-off. Besides, they make enough money without your patronage."

"Oh yeah? How do you know?"

He knew because, halfway through this conversation, he'd Googled it and found out exactly how many millions those DVDs had garnered. It was a lot of millions.

This information did soften my resolve. Even so, the whole thing made me feel... icky. This was an artistic product I loved, one that I got ample amounts of enjoyment from. Wasn't it wrong not to pay for it? I imagined selling my first novel ('fantasized' is probably a more accurate descriptor) only to have my profits dwindle because people didn't feel like paying for it. It's hard to compare: I mean, you can't burn a copy of a book (I mean, physically you can, but not over a computer... unless it's an electronic copy. Wait... this is getting confusing). I put tears and sweat and lots of time not eating/exercising/having a social life into that beloved book. Those stolen sales would severely diminish my capacity to write for anything like a living. It isn't fair not to pay for something that someone has worked hard to produce.

I get what Manfriend is saying- CD/DVD prices in Australia are out of this WORLD expensive. Trueblood doesn't need our money: they have enough to keep making the show and to pay all involved a very healthy wage. Still, does it matter how much money they have, or how much you save? It is a piece of art, and art should always be valued.

So, I've put my foot down when it comes to small and emerging artists, people who I want to support so that they can do more, like Alan Boyle and Sarah Blasko. I also draw the line when it comes to artists I'm truly obsessed with, such as Ray Lamontagne and Ani DiFranco. I try to stay strong on TV shows, too, but... I'll admit that there are several easy-to-locate cracks in that resolve. When it comes to big-time movies and albums, sometimes I just can't see the point... I know, I know, try not to judge me. Resolving this issue is a little bit harrrrd (You must have seen that one coming).

My Manfriend has done lots of 'research' on pirating, and generally, he feels no guilt whatsoever about ripping all and sundry. The jury is still out for me, as it makes me feel all slimy inside. So... to be or not to be: what are your thoughts on this question?