Cinders: A Review

 

 

So Cinders is a fairytale retelling with significant elements of romance. Yes, I can already hear what you’re thinking, writer-friends: “Er…Simon? What are you doing reading a fairytale romance novella?” To which I answer, “Shaddup. If a guy wants to read fairytale romance and cry into his wine cooler every now and then, who are you to judge?” :P

…

…

BAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!

Um…sorry. Couldn’t keep a straight face there. I don’t cry into wine coolers, only into vodka.

Anyway, the truth is I read cinders cause I like Michelle Davidson Argyle (aka, Lady Glamis), the author, and wanted to show support for a fellow writer. (See that, kids? This whole social-networking-as-platform thing does work, after all!) And in the vein of writerly support, I think I’ll go ahead and review Cinders. Yes, I shall.

So. Here’s what the back cover has to say for itself:

Cinderella’s happily-ever-after isn’t turning out the way she expected.

With her fairy godmother imprisoned in the castle and a mysterious stranger haunting her dreams, Cinderella is on her own to discover true love untainted by magic.

Yup, it’s a Cinderella story, but nowhere near what you’d expect. As I read it, it’s more about how far this woman will go in pursuit of what she thinks she wants. It’s about choices, and the consequences that follow when you choose wrongly.

There’s a lot to like about Cinders, so let’s start there. First of all, let’s dispense with the whole self-publishing stigma right at the outset, shall we? There’s nothing even remotely second rate about the quality of the book: lovely cover design, great production standards, and if there were more’n 3 typos in the entire thing, I’d be surprised. Hell, even Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book had a misspelling or two, and that was professionally edited, so Michelle did a fantastic job with that.

As for the story, let’s just say this: Glam sure ain’t afraid to put the hurt on her characters. Cinderella makes some pretty questionable decisions in her quest to find true love, and several of ‘em bite her in the ass pretty hard. Like, great-white-shark-bite hard. Yowza. This is why I loved the ending of Cinders: it’s not neat, it’s not tidy, and it sure ain’t happy, but it makes perfect sense. And boy does Cindy have a character arc! Quite the changed woman at the end, she is.

The other thing I appreciated about Cinders was Michelle’s use of imagery. She’s got an excellent eye for vivid and startling scenes, and the pictures she paints with words have a way of sticking with you. The following passage illustrates what I mean.

The next morning the kitchen smelled of blood. It was splattered on the wood countertops and splashed across the floor. Cinderella watched thin red streams trickle between the stones.

The prince’s hunting party had done well: fifteen ducks, three pheasants, and eight rabbits hung on a long thin wire in the corner. The red liquid dripped steadily from their limp bodies swaying back and forth in the cool breeze from an open door.

You can just see the kitchen, can’t you? Even smell it? That’s what I’m talking about.

As for what didn’t work as well for me? Well, it won’t surprise anyone to learn that the romance aspect was the main thing I stumbled on. I felt I could have been sold a little better on the secondary romance that causes most of Cinderella’s post-nuptial angst. Not that I’m against marital complications (I routinely screw up my characters’ relationships for fun and entertainment), but there was kind of a de facto feel to Cinderella’s dilemma that I felt could have been mitigated by a bit more foreshadowing or elegantly-worked-in backstory.

The other thing that nagged at me was the ending. Now yes, I did say that I love the ending, and I do—the situation of it. But the setup for the situation I felt was a tad thin. Ultimately, I think both of my criticisms of Cinders stem from its being a novella. Given more time and a less constrained wordcount, I feel as though the parts that struck me as underwritten could have been expanded, foreshadowed, constructed more thoroughly. This, of course, is my personal preference as a reader; there are plenty of people who love the simplicity and directness of the novella form.

So would I recommend Cinders? Certainly, and not just because I like Michelle. Her prose style is elegant  and flowing, and the world she’s created is earthy, detail-rich, solid. Her use of imagery is outstanding. The story will shock you in places, make you smile in others, and the ending, while perhaps surprising, is satisfying in that oh-of-course-it-had-to-be-this-way sense. Cinders is definitely worth a read.

~~~~~

Michelle’s author site: http://www.michelledavidsonargyle.com

Purchase Cinders here (paperback and electronic editions available): http://www.michelledavidsonargyle.com/p/purchase.html

Work in progress…Friday? Oh, hell. It’s just announcements.

I’m sure you noticed, O loyal readers (and maybe even you disloyal ones too), that my Work in Progress Thursday post (which, naturally, evolved out of my inability to post any progress on Wednesday) was co-opted yesterday by those oh-so-helpful tips on writerly success. That means my weekly check-in falls on Friday this week. Yay! *coughs*

How’d I do? Well, once again, I wrote quite a bit, but not all on the novel. What did I write? Here, have a bulleted list (writers love bulleted lists):

• Stilettos & Shirley Temples, Part 11. (And wouldn’t you like to know what happens? Well, you can’t. Wait till Monday.)
• An exploratory scene for a potential super sekrit project. (This, upon rereading it, sucked to an ungodly degree. I cringed a couple times. *facepalm*)
• A from-scratch rewrite of the exploratory scene for a potential super sekrit project. (This was far and away better, IMHO, and didn’t make me want to poke myself in the eye with a #2 pencil.)
• Sketches of the next 9 or so scenes for the novel. (I had some great evil laughs to myself as I tossed in plot-complications and violent confrontations. What? You don’t evil laugh to yourself when you’re writing. Erm…neither do I, then. *tugs collar* *grins sheepishly*)
• JUST enough words on the novel to eke out one more percentage point on the WIP-meter. (Though, in my defense, I did scrap a few hundred words of half-written scene because I decided not to include that subplot in the book after all, so my ending wordcount doesn’t reflect all my novel-writing this week.)

I’d guess that was about 4 – 5k of writing, overall, which ain’t bad. AND DON’T YELL AT ME FOR CONSIDERING SUPER SEKRIT PROJECTS YOU WOULD TOO IF YOU HAD AN OPPORTUNITY THIS FUN! Uh…yes.

Right. Let’s just do the table and image thingy, then, huh? Yah.

WIP STATUS

Current word count: 11,529 Number of future scenes sketched out: 9 Past week’s effort classification: Unfocused, and slightly pathetic. >.<

~~~~~~~~

Also, hey! Are y’all (and by “y’all” I mean, “all you writers living in the Philadelphia area,” so I should probably have said “youse”) remembering Philly Lit Night? Yeah, the Philly Lit Night that involves me, Laurel, Frankie Diane and The First Novels Club ladies, and any other writers that want to show up, meeting at the Irish Pub, 20th & Walnut, at 8pm.

You know you want to go. They serve beer there. Also, vodka. What else do you need as enticement? (The food’s good too. And by food I mean Guinness.)

~~~~~~~~~

Oh, and one more thing! Guess what happened this past week or so. I’ll give you a hint:

Who are all those lovely people?

Right, well if you didn’t get the hint, I finally hit the 500 follower mark. This is momentous! This is stupendous! This is more significant than the invention of the printing press!

And, of course, I must now host a contest of some description. ‘Cept I have no clue what that’ll be. Maybe I’ll get the folks at Philly Lit Night to help me brainstorm.

Whatever I come up with, I’m pretty sure it’ll make “epic” look like too paltry a descriptor. Yeah. I’m cool like that. So stay tuned!

~~~~~~~~~~~

I think that’s enough rambling for now, don’ t you? I’ll stop now, then.

Have a great weekend, writer-friends! And don’t forget to come back on Monday for Stilettos & Shirley Temples, y’hear?

*waves*

*disappears*

How to Respect the Craft of Writing. Maybe.

It has recently come to my attention that some of you out there (and if you’re wondering whether I’m talking to you, then yes, I am) don’t respect the craft of writing enough. It’s a long and storied profession, and lately it seems as though every Tom, Dick, and Sally wants to jump on the bandwagon and crank out the next Twilight or The Da Vinci Code (only with worse prose) and retire to a private island. This concerns me.

This concerns me so much that I’ve put together a list of things that can immediately set you apart from the hobby writers and other assorted ne’er-publish-wells that float around the blogosphere. You’re welcome.

To wit, I present to you, dear writer-friends, with three simple actions you can take to achieve writerly success.

1. Dress the part*

You’re a writer, dammit, and you should look like one. Cat-assing around is for the kids that play WoW for 8-hour stretches. You, O professional writer-type, need to come to your computer, or moleskin notebook dressed to impress (your muse, that is). That means anything less than business casual is unacceptable.

This is what I’m talkin’ about, fellas.

  And for the ladies….

And if you really want to get the muse hot and bothered, you could go all out with evening wear. But yoga pants? Boxer shorts? T-shirts? You might as well muck about on Twitter for the rest of the night, ‘cause your muse just high-tailed it out to hang with Rachel Zoe.

2. Be well groomed**

It’s tempting, I know, when you’ve been up late writing for nights on end, to skimp on personal hygiene a bit, but the muse has a highly developed sense of smell. Shower daily—twice daily if you sweat a lot. Make sure you’re clean shaven, with various and sundry stray hairs duly tweezed, combed down, or waxed away. Splash a little cologne or perfume on, perhaps put on those matching pearl earrings and necklace (ladies), or those platinum cufflinks (men). Your muse likes these things.

The muse is SO not showing up for this guy….

3. Have refreshments handy***

The best writers in history have all kept liquid refreshment close at hand while writing. Is anyone arguing against the genius of Charles Bukowski and Hunter S. Thompson?  I think  not. So learn from their examples, writer-friend, and stock that refrigerator.

Now, I’m not encouraging out-and-out alcoholism (although that certainly worked for O. Henry and Raymond Chandler), merely a good solid buzz by the end of an evening’s writing. And let’s be clear, if you want to write at the highest levels, friends, please, for the love of all that’s respectably drunk, don’t buy Pabst Blue Ribbon. The higher quality the alcohol, the happier your muse.

Stoli is good. Grey Goose better. Pilsner Urquell is good. Chimay Red better. Cristal is good. Dom Perignon better. I think you get the picture.

I am SO THIRSTY right now.

~~~~~

Do you see how easy it is to set yourselves apart from the plebeian masses filling the nation’s slushpiles? You might even—as proof of your writerly seriousness—want to include a picture of yourself writing with your query letter. What agent wouldn’t be impressed?

And there you have it, writer-friends: your path to blockbuster sales and your own private island.**** You can thank me later.

*I’m not serious about this.

**I’m not serious about this either.

***I’m REALLY not serious about this one.

****Can I visit you on your island, though?

Philly! Lit! Night! HAHAHAAA!!!

Yes, writer-friends, we’re less than a week away from the epicosity of a writers’ night out on the town in Philly. Are you excited yet? ‘Cause I am!

Frankie posted the announcement yesterday, and I’m following up today to remind y’all to mark those calendars for next Friday, the 24th, when we’ll be boogeying on down at the Irish Pub near Rittenhouse Square.

It’s a pub. It’s Irish. It’s the Irish Pub.

Okay, perhaps there won’t be any boogeying, but you never know. Frankie might regale us with a bellydance if we ask nicely enough. :)

Start time is 8pm (that’s Eastern Standard Time, in case you’re flying in from somewhere else). The first round of shots is scheduled for 8:30, and there’s a bar fight planned at around 9:45, so be sure to bring some sort of concealed weapon.*

What will we talk about, you ask? Oh, I dunno. After we get past the initial “ZOMG you’re so much taller/shorter/paler/greener than you look online!” stuff, I guess we’ll just talk smack about other writers who aren’t there. That’s always a hit at writer get-togethers. Maybe we’ll talk about books and writing and agents and publishing, too, when we’re not character-assassinating fellow bloggers.**

SO! Plan your week, put aside some spending money, bring an appetite, a significant other, whatever, and JOIN US FOR FOOD, FUN, WRITING-RELATED TALK, AND VODKA! (Okay, I’ll be drinking vodka. You can drink whatever you’d like.)

See you there, Philly writers!

:)

*This is not true. I haven’t scheduled any rounds of shots.

**This isn’t true either. I don’t think we’ll be character-assassinating anyone. Unless they deserve it, in which case we might.***

***We won’t really. Promise.

Work in Progress . . . Thursday. Again. *facepalm*

DON’T GIVE ME ANY GRIEF ABOUT IT, HUH?

Er…sorry about that. I shouldn’t be all defensive up front, there, should I? No, probably not.

Anyhow, I do want to keep up with my weekly updates, if only because it makes me add at the very least 1% to my manuscript every week. Seriously, if I can’t add a single percentage point to my progress bar in any given week, I should be beaten with electric eels, and I don’t want to be beaten with electric eels, so I try like hell to add at least 1,000 words a week, or thereabouts.

Yes.

So how’d I do this week? Meh. I reached over 11,000 words, but just barely. I could blame that on the family coming home after an extended vacation and me having to resume fatherly duties and losing epic amounts of sleep with a tiny person waking up at odd hours of the morning, but then I’d just be making excuses, and you’d be reaching for the eels again, so I won’t blame it on anything other than my own native laziness.

WHATEVER!

I made some progress.

Here it is:

WIP STATUS

Current word count: 11,034 Number of future scenes sketched out: 2 Past week’s effort classification: Almost electric-eel-beating-worthy. Damn.

Philly Lit Night – Be there or be, uh, not there….

That’s right, ladies and gents, the irrepressible Frankie Diane Mallis and I are organizing a get-together for Philadelphia-area writers on Friday, Sept. 24th. We’re thinking somewhere on South Street, but depending on the response, we might have to find someplace that can handle a bigger crowd.

 Maybe here?

Anyhow, drop a comment on this post or Frankie’s announcement to let us know if you’re interested. We’d love to see you and chat about writing and publishing and which agents we’d like to play beer pong with!

And, to pique your interest, here’s just a few of the things that you could find out at a gathering of this sort:

• If I really do drink vodka straight.
• If Frankie can actually bellydance.
• If Laurel’s as nice in real life as she is on her blog.
• If I’m as much of an idiot in real life as I am on my blog.
• If the First Novels Club ladies really all have matching tattoos.
• Whether it’s possible to have a conversation in real life consisting entirely of hashtags.
• If Twitter really has made me more stupider.
• If it’s true that most writers make Gollum look tanned and fit.
• If it’s possible to recite Jabberwocky flawlessly after six whiskey shots.
• If agented writers actually sparkle.
• If there’s any writers within 300 miles of Philadelphia who haven’t read Twilight yet.
• If anyone will bring a book to the get-together and pull it out during lulls in the conversation.
• Whether I can convince Frankie that mozzarella sticks are totally worth cheating on her vegan diet for.

And that’s just a sampling. There may be additional opportunities for learning at such an event. The sky’s the limit! (Okay, your credit card limit’s the limit. Or last call’s the limit. Whichever comes first.)

Join us! RSVP! It’ll be fun! :)

Work in Progress Wednesday. On, uh, Thursday. *cough*

I know, I know. I was supposed to post this yesterday, but Molly had things to do the rest of the week and wanted to put up our Trading Spaces posts then. Who am I to argue with a lady? (Don’t answer that. No counter-examples, please.)

Anyway, I’m posting my wordcount update today. You’ll deal, I’m sure.

BUT! Before I do, a couple of announcements. Everyone loves announcements, right? Right. I knew you did. I know *I* always do. Yes.

ANNOUNCEMENT #1!

The lovely Ms. Jami Gold, a longtime commenter on this blog, and dedicated writer of paranormal novels, has written two posts this week inspired by my discussion of action through dialogue last Wednesday. She calls it the Matrix Approach to Scene Setting, and I recommend y’all hop over to take a look. The posts are well-written, well-reasoned, and rather helpful, if I do say so (and I do). The fact that Jami says nice things about me in them has NOTHING whatsoever to do with my recommendation. That’s mere coincidence, I assure you.

LINKS!

The “Matrix” Approach to Scene Setting, Part 1 – The “What”

The “Matrix” Approach to Scene Setting, Part 2 – The “How”

You like? You liiike? Good. On to the next announcement.

 

ANNOUNCEMENT #2!!

I made it to the second round of editorial review with a submission to a fantasy magazine today. I may still be rejected, of course, and kind of expect it, but even getting through one round makes me happy. So…yay!

And y’know what? I’d never have sent that piece out into the world again if it weren’t for the #10bythen challenge on Twitter. Not sure who instigated it (it may have been the ever-instigatory Mercedes), but I’d like to give a big thank you shoutout to the crew who motivated me to start submitting my short fiction again.

They are:

Mercedes M. Yardley

Cate Gardner

Anthony J. Rapino

Katey V. Taylor

That right there, folks, is a talented bunch of writers. Check ‘em out, would ya? And there’s another round of #10bythen going on right now. That means we have to submit stories to 10 markets by October 1st. You up for it? Drop us a line on Twitter using the hashtag. We promise to demand only a fawning, groveling apology letter on your blog if you fail to meet the challenge. >:)

Aaannnd…

 

ANNOUNCEMENT #3!!!

Here’s where I talk about weekly wordcount. *sighs*

Look, I wrote a lot last week. Well, for me, anyway. I cracked 4k total words for the week. Except it wasn’t all on the novel. I wrote the next episode of Stilettos & Shirley Temples, for one thing (and, if I may say, it’s pretty fraggin’ cool). Also, I wrote the short fiction for Molly’s challenge yesterday. That was about 2,500 words between the two of those.

But the novel languished a bit. I only got 1,645 words written on it. However! I did break 10k words on a writing project for the first time EVAR!!! That’s a milestone, writer-friends. That’s new for me. Maybe I can make a go of this novel-writing thing after all!

You’re still allowed to mock me for not writing enough this week, of course. But, y’know, I’ll be okay. The little glow of accomplishment will get me through the pain of your derision. That, and Laphroaig Quarter Cask Double Matured scotch.

WIP STATUS

Current word count: 10,237 Number of future scenes sketched out: 3 Past week’s effort classification: Marginal, but still record-breaking. I’m fine with that. :P

Trading Spaces! Writing Challenges! Fecklessness!

One of the fascinating things about the blogosphere and Twitterverse  is the sheer variety of people one comes in contact with. After almost a year at this whole social media game, I now “know” people in just about every English-speaking country in the world, and probably a couple of people from every state. My writer-friends write the gamut, from humor to horror, picture books to VERY adult novels, and everything in between.

It’s very cool.

I mention this because some weeks ago, dear Molly Campbell from over at Life With The Campbells, challenged me to write something based on a simple name-adjective prompt, with the final result going up on her blog. Of course, we all know what I do when I’m challenged, yes?

And then I provided Molly with a prompt of her own, with the final result going up on my blog. You see how this goes.

My prompt? Aldrich Jones, feckless. Go see what I did with that when you’re done reading here (link at the end). Since Molly writes some wonderfully humorous stuff on her blog, I tried to keep it in that vein. Yah, me. Humor. I know, right? I didn’t even kill anyone in the story, which is odd for me.

And Molly’s prompt? Maryann Inglesbruck, unexpected. Her results are below!

* * * * *

Maryann Inglesbruck has big feet. She wears sneakers, black socks, and cardigans. She loves working in her yard with her three dogs patrolling around her. Weeds never have a chance to even get started in her yard, and people come from miles around to look at her roses. She quit smoking a few years ago, and now chews gum ferociously.

Maryann has never been married. She has lived her entire life in the same house she was born in. Her parents left it to her when they died. Maryann taught English at Union College for twenty five years, and when she retired, she vowed never to read another book.

I first met Maryann when we were both about four years old. Maryann’s mother Sue and my mother were best friends. We were often thrust together as playmates when our Moms had coffee. We lived within walking distance, and my Mom often would suggest, “Amy, let’s put our jackets on and walk over to see what Sue and Maryann are up to!” Off we would go. Maryann and I never had much in common. I liked dolls and stuffed animals, and Maryann liked baseball and picking her scabs. We tried to be friends, but it just wasn’t the way it was with our mothers.

Although our Moms were best friends, the families weren’t close. Maryann’s father and my father had nothing in common. My Dad was a doctor, and we didn’t see much of him, because he was so often called away to one emergency or another. Maryann’s Dad was a minister, and my parents thought he was a bit stuffy.

My parents were divorced when I was ten. Mom and I moved into an apartment in town, and although he said he hated it, Dad stayed in the house. I saw Maryann once in awhile, but when we moved out of the neighborhood, Mom and Sue drifted apart as well. Life went on, and I grew up, married and had my own family.

I ran into Maryann occasionally. As she got older, she seemed to become more and more eccentric. As a minister’s daughter, she scandalized everyone in town with her odd way of dressing, chain smoking, and radical ideas. It was rumored that she was a lesbian.

My father died last year. My Mom, who now lives very happily in the apartment by herself, offered our house to me. “I don’t need the money, and I don’t really want to sell the house anyway. I would love to see you and your family living in it.”

So our family moved in. At times, it seems a bit strange to be here again. Oh, we did a lot of upgrading, and the house isn’t really like it used to be at all, but there are a few ghosts. And I am now Maryann’s neighbor once more. Maryann’s parents moved to Florida when her father retired from the ministry, and it was there that Sue died of cancer.

So I see her now and again, working in her garden. We wave, and exchange a few words. She asks about my Mom. I pet the dogs. I look at her sneakers, take in the cardigan, and wonder if she really is a lesbian. I marvel at how different we are, and wish we could have been friends.

Yesterday I found it. I was cleaning out the desk in the living room. That old desk is a wonderful relic; I think my grandmother got it from her parents. It has a false front, and if you press a little lever, it swings away to reveal some little drawers. I opened them, hoping in the back of my mind for treasure.

In one of the drawers, there was a photo of Mom holding me right after I was born. I remember the picture. She looked beautiful, and I looked wrinkled. I flipped it over. Mom had written on it. “The Minister’s other child.”

My mother. Dad. Sue. Reverend Inglesbruck. Maryann. Me.

The rest of my life.

* * * * *

Now that was a bit unexpected, wasn’t it? I think Molly did a great job. She rarely writes fiction, so this was a bit of a stretch for her, but you can see where her strengths lie, yes? She’s got a wonderful feel for character, for the little details that bring someone to life in a narrative. You can just see Maryann pottering around the yard with her big feet in sneakers, wearing a cardigan and smoking, right? I think Molly deserves a round of applause. Go on. Applaud.

Good. Now we’ve shown our appreciation for Molly’s challenge entry, do swing by her blog and read my entry. And while you’re at it, read some of her stuff too, huh? I can almost guarantee she’ll make you smile.

Happy Wednesday, y’all.  :)

Do it like Shakespeare and Frost and…me! (Action through Dialogue)

Oh, look. What esteemed company I’ve just placed myself in! Yes, I’m like a latter-day Billy Shakes, with a bit of Bobby Frost mixed in for good measure. (Now would be an appropriate time for incredulous laughter. I’ll wait till you’re done.)

Finished? Good. I have a point, of course. I almost always do. Except that one time, but let’s not talk about that.

My point is this: dialogue can be used to communicate action in your narrative, and can lean up your prose pretty darn quick if you use it right. Don’t worry—I’ll give examples. Let’s start with Bill, since he’s chronologically the earliest.

SHAKESPEARE

See,  when Shakespeare was writing his plays, it just wasn’t the thing to insert stage directions into a play. He didn’t usually  write Throws sword away into his manuscript, and so inserted most of his directions directly into the dialogue. You may have been taught this by your high school English teacher, but I’m noting it here because you can learn to apply this technique to your own writing.

An example? Sure. Let’s look at the very end of Romeo and Juliet, shall we? Juliet wakes to find Romeo dead beside her (I don’t have to put SPOILER ALERT here, do I?), and the dialogue commences:

JULIET:

What’s here? A cup, closed in my true love’s hand?

Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.

O churl! Drunk all, and left no friendly drop

to help me after? I will kiss thy lips;

Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,

To make die with a restorative.

Thy lips are warm.

FIRST WATCHMAN:

[Within] Lead, boy: which way?

JULIET:

Yea, noise? then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger!

This is thy sheath;

There rust, and let me die.

Right. so where are the stage directions here? Well first, “I will kiss thy lips,” and then “O happy dagger! This is thy sheath….” We know that in the first instance, Juliet kisses Romeo’s lips, and in the second, she stabs herself.

It doesn’t have to be this obvious, of course. Let’s look at Frost next to see it done in a more modern style.

FROST

 

Now, Robert Frost, while certainly famous for poems like Out, Out, and Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening, also wrote many poems that are nought but dialogue, and illustrate a compelling scene using only the characters’ spoken words. I’ll share an example from “Home Burial.” I won’t give the setup, because I don’t want to rob you of the experience of reading this for the first time, if you don’t know it (but please do follow the link when you’re done here—it’s utterly worth a read), so let’s just say it’s an argument between a husband and wife. Here’s the excerpt:

“There, you have said it all and now you feel better.

You won’t go now. You’re crying. Close the door.

The heart’s gone out of it: why keep it up?

Amy! There’s someone coming down the road!”

So we know that the wife is crying, and that she’s opened the door, and that someone’s coming. All of this is communicated through simple dialogue. Certainly Frost could have conveyed those details through simple description, like he does in other parts of the poem, but the speech compresses the details, presents them in a very natural manner.

ME

 I fit in well with this little progression, don’t I? *cough*

Right, so why am I listing myself in such august company? Well, it’s because I’ve used precisely this technique myself, and I kind of like it for first person narration. It’s an awfully handy way to sidestep awkward self-descriptions of the “I paused to regard myself in the mirror” sort.

I’ll pull two examples from my Stilettos & Shirley Temples post on Monday by way of illustration. Check it:

She gives me a sidelong look as she adjusts a diamond stud earring. “Want to get your feet off the coffee table?”

“Nope.” I take a sip and lean against the soft couch back.

* * * * *

I swill the last of my vodka. What have you dragged me into, Mercedes? “I need a refill.”

“Maybe put something other than a towel on, while you’re at it,” she calls after me.

I don’t. She rolls her eyes when I step back onto the balcony.

Okay, I should note that I never mentioned (a) that I had put my feet up on the coffee table, or (b) that I was wearing nothing but a towel on the balcony. Why not? Well, because I feel as though it would have crudded up the narrative. Yes, perhaps I could have found an elegant way to communicate that information without dialogue, but why? It’s just as easy to slide in the little details by putting words in my characters’ mouths, and it flowed naturally for me.

And there you have it, writer-friends: one more weapon in your writer’s armamentarium. You might not like this method, in which case don’t bother with it. I just happen to think it’s a wonderful way to trim unnecessary description and keep your prose humming along nicely. Nothing reads faster than dialogue, right? Right.

Now off you go and talk some action, wouldja?

============================================

And, as part of the obligatory WIP Wednesday check-in, I present:

WIP STATUS

Current word count: 8,592 Number of future scenes sketched out: 4 Past week’s effort classification: Marginal, with no exucuses. I should be mocked.

Yeah, I added another 1,000 words to the novel, but that’s sorry for a week’s worth of writing. Go ahead and excoriate me. I deserve it. *sigh*