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The lesser of two evils: weak verb or adverb use?
I have a problem with smiling. And nodding.
Thee problem is this: there’s only a handful of words in the English language to express those actions: smile, beam, grin, smirk, simper. Nodding is even worse: nod. Other versions of this one tend to draw attention to the words instead of showing the characters’ actions: bobbed his head (“up and down,” if you want to make it even more annoying).
But the real problem here is that every smile and every nod don’t look like or mean the same thing. There are sinister smiles, eager grins, coy smiles, small smiles, half smiles, half smirks. There are greeting nods, indicating nods, assenting nods, effusive nods, reluctant nods, slow nods, quick nods.
Obviously my problem is not identifying the kinds of smiles and nods humans use. My problem comes from describing them in writing, because that’s against the rules. There are a lot of so-called rules in writing. As with anything with a body of ad hoc regulations, many of the rules contradict each other. Like these:
1. Never use adverbs. Ever! (Corollary: adjectives are bad; they are trouble!)
and
2. Always use strong verbs. Until you make yourself, your characters and your readers tired!
(We’ll talk more about Rule #1 another day.)
When do they conflict? I’ll show you. Consider:
He gave her a kind smile OR He smiled at her kindly
He shot her a bemused look OR He looked at her bemusedly
He gave his thumb a pensive chew (LOL) OR He chewed his thumb pensively
And do they need the forbidden modifier? I think so. Can you infer the meaning of his grin with just “He smiled at her”? (I have two images in mind here: “He smiled at her. Mmm. Lunch.” and “He smiled at her. Oh, a friend.”) A thumb chewer may be a small child seeking comfort, an adult pondering a problem or a guy with a nervous habit.
Now, of course, there are lots of other ways to show the intent behind nods and smiles. But setting aside all of the myriad other possible constructions, what do you think: which of the above contrasts are better? Which is the lesser of two evils?
Photo credits—Mona Lisa: Songkran; Jack-o-lantern: Joanie Cahill
Posted in Mechanics
Tagged adjective, adverb, grammar, rule conflict, rules, strong verb, verb, weak verb
2 Comments
Verbs with muscle
By Janga
Breathes there a writer with prose so perfect that she has not been told at least once to “show; don’t tell”? One of the best ways to follow this cardinal rule is to use strong verbs. Weak verbs are generic. They can be used in a wide range of situations. Strong verbs are precise.
Contrary to popular thought, not all action verbs are strong verbs. In the sentence “Ali walked down the road,” “walked” is an action verb. It is also a generic verb. It tells us that Ali is using her feet to advance across a surface and nothing else.
Skilled writers use strong verbs to reveal character and situation. If we change “walked” to a more precise verb, we show our readers Ali’s movements. “Strolled,” “pranced,” and “trudged” are just a few of the choices a writer might use to make Ali’s movement more vivid for the reader. Look at this passage from Judith Ivory’s Black Silk to see how a consummate artist shows a girl moving through a crowd.
The girl jostled her way through gripping hands and recriminations. She elbowed one man and grabbed another by the collar. She wanted to be in their midst. She was scanning the men’s encroaching, remonstrating faces, looking them over as thoroughly as they were trying to turn her about. After a minute of this tussle—the men would not organize themselves for her inspection—she clambered up over the edge of the billiard table, standing on it to look down on them all.
Strong verbs also help writers sidestep the adverb trap. Tessa Dare rightly observed in the “to be” discussion that adverbs used well can make prose more vibrant, but choosing a strong verb allows us to avoid graceless, adverb-heavy prose.
Let’s consider “Ali walked down the road” again. Suppose I have written this sentence as the first in a new chapter. I reread it, and I know that I need more. I recast the sentence: “Ali walked slowly down the road, as if burdened with the weight of the world.” By substituting a strong verb, I can cut a fifteen-word sentence to five words and eliminate a cliché in the process: “Ali trudged down the road.”
I confess that I am an overwriter, so I spend much of my revision time pruning my prose. Experience has taught me that strong verbs foster concise writing. Have/has/had phrases often signal wordiness that can be eliminated with a verb change. For example, if I rewrite “Lucia had had yet another argument with her mother” as “Lucia argued with her mother again,” I have cut the awkward repetition “had had” and exchanged a weak verb for a powerful one. In the original sentence, a strong verb (“argue”) is buried in a nominalization (a noun created from a verb or some other part of speech).
Consider this sentence: “Sari’s words caused Anthony great confusion.” The sentence is grammatically correct. Moreover, its meaning is clear. But how much more vivid and exact is the revised sentence “Sari’s words confused Anthony”? Or even better, “Sari’s words baffled Anthony.”
Some choices are stylistic, and they are intimately connected to the writer’s voice. But whether the style is simple and unadorned, lush and lyrical, or somewhere in between, the writer’s aim is vigorous prose. Cutting the “lard,” to borrow Richard Lanham’s term, and choosing verbs with muscle will move the writer closer to her goal.
About the author
Janga started reading her mother’s romance novels the summer she turned ten and has continued to be an avid reader of romance. Even a Ph. D. in English and years in academia were not enough to diminish her love of the genre. The enthusiasm of aspiring romance writers on the Eloisa James bulletin board refired her dream of writing a romance novel. She is in the process of revising her first mss, The Long Way Home, a contemporary with a Southern accent. She blogs at Romance Vagabonds and Just Janga.
Photo credits—Girl walking/prancing: Sanja Gjenero; Boy flexing: Jordan McCollum
Posted in Mechanics
Tagged active verb, adverb, generic verb, nominalization, strong verb, verb, verbs with muscle
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Verbs and Dialogue Tags: Or, Stop Smiling Words
By Annette Lyon
Back in my days writing for a small newspaper, I often did book reviews. One day a publicist handed me a self-published book. It was a semi-autobiographical novel, and the concept seemed interesting. I looked forward to reading it.
That is, until I got about four lines into page one. The book was a mess from start to finish. Even though I read the thing about a dozen years ago, I could still rant for days on the all the problems in the book (let’s just say this guy didn’t have the first clue about how to put together a coherent story, let alone a coherent sentence).
One particular peeve still stands out: the use of funky verbs instead of normal dialogue tags. In the first chapter, I noticed that no one ever said anything.
They began, interrupted, rebutted, chided, complained, warned, replied, whispered, teased, mumbled, proclaimed, ordered, confessed, pressed, affirmed, announced, proposed, confirmed, suggested, and (some of my favorites) guiltily petitioned, sarcastically rebutted, and proficiently advised.
I could tell the guy had a thesaurus and was trying hard not to use “said.” The result felt ridiculous. Finding his goofy dialogue tags became a game for me. I wrote down every one from the first chapter.
The list had over 90 tags. Not ONE used “said.”
By this point, my eye was seriously twitching with annoyance. I have a sneaking suspicion that I also laughed out loud . . . several times.
Here are three basic rules for dialogue tags that this author could have really used.
Rule #1: “Said.” Use it 90% of the time.
It’s our happy verb.
While you don’t normally want to be repeating the same words over and over in your work, “said” (contrary to what this guy thought) tends to be invisible. It disappears while it helps the reader keep track of who is saying what.
Remember that you don’t need “said” (or any tag) after every single line of dialogue. If the speaker is clear, you can leave off the tag altogether. But when it doubt, use “said.”
Rule #2: If you decide to use a verb other than “said,” be sure it’s a speakable verb.
For example, don’t do this: “These flowers are for you,” he smiled.
Um, no. Smiles are silent. You can’t smile words. You can smile while speaking words. You can smile and then speak them. But smiles themselves can’t speak.
Other non-speakable verbs often used as tags include sniffed, nodded, shrugged, and a hundred others.
That horrific book I slogged through used “her eyes begged” as a speech tag.
(Wow. Those are some pretty special—and loud—eyes.)
Rule #3: Use actions (sure, even “her eyes begged”) when referring to dialogue.
Just don’t use it as a speech tag. Instead, put those action verbs next to the dialogue in their own sentences, complete with end-of-sentence punctuation.
Otherwise, the action is the thing speaking, and we all know that’s impossible.
So this would be just fine:
He smiled. “These flowers are for you.”
Or, use “said” and then add the verb next to it. So this works too:
“These flowers are for you,” he said, smiling.
Examples with actions only:
Steve walked into April’s apartment and handed her a bouquet of roses. “These are for you.”
OR
He got down on one knee. “Will you marry me?” His eyes begged to know the answer.
See? No speech tags at all. Even better, no funky verbs that can’t be realistically spoken. All we have are actions separated by clear punctuation like a period or question mark, plus dialogue we instinctively know belongs to the right speaker.
If you use these three rules, the verbs in your tags will look far more professional—and they won’t give a reviewer eye twitches and a serious case of the giggles.
So please, no more (hmm . . . let’s consult my list of 90-some tags from chapter one): stammering, grumbling, ordering, proposing, affirmed, or quizzing, what say?
Annette Lyon has been writing ever since second grade, when she piled pillows on a chair to reach her mother’s typewriter. A cum laude graduate from BYU with a degree in English, she has had success with newspaper, magazine, and business writing, but her first love is fiction. She was awarded Utah’s Best of State medal for fiction in 2007. Tower of Strength, her sixth and most recent novel, is her fourth historical centered around old Utah temples.
Photo credits—Reader by Chris Johnson; smile by jdurham123.
When to follow the verb rules
There’s a time and a place for everything, naturally, and while I love to talk about flouting stupid rules, most of the rules are actually good advice that’s just a bit . . . misapplied. As Mr Knightley says:
Better be without sense than misapply it as you do.
Right! So, let us understand the so-called rules so that we can apply them correctly, shall we?
Avoid passive voice
This is almost always good advice. Generally speaking, passive voice is awkward. Naturally, there are exceptions to that—sometimes rephrasing the passive into active voice is even more awkward, sometimes we have to conceal the actor, sometimes it’s just not important.
Avoid the past progressive
In general, the past progressive form (was [verb]ing) isn’t the strongest. (How’s that for diplomacy?) There are a few specific reasons to use it—mostly to show an ongoing or interrupted action in the past. Overusing it, though, results in flabby writing.
Avoid the verb “to be”
It’s true that sometimes the verb “to be” can be used to make such evils as the passive voice, the past progressive, and really boring, flat writing. Compare, too:
The stockings were hung by the chimney.
The stockings hung by the chimney.
The first one is passive voice (and The Night Before Christmas, yes?), longer and takes the oomph out a verb. (‘Hang’ isn’t very oomphy in the first place, so let’s try to help it out, eh?)
However, again, “to be” is an important verb that you don’t want to completely excise from your writing—or it’s gonna get really weird.
What other rules do we see that are pretty good advice?
Posted in Mechanics
Tagged active verb, grammar rules, passive, passive voice, passivity, past progressive, rules, strong verb, to be, verb
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Debunking a Myth: Avoid the verb “to be.”
By Janga
Avoid the verb “to be.”
Too often I see that command given as well-intentioned advice to some writer who takes the advice literally and begins revising her prose with the goal of eliminating every pesky is/are/was/were from her prose. I’m fairly certain that the advice giver intends to caution the writer against overuse of the verb “to be” and verbs of passive voice, but the warning lacks clarity. A surprising number of people fail to distinguish between “to be” as a state-of-being verb (Jenny is happy) and “to be” as an auxiliary verb used to turn active voice verbs (Jeremy kissed Jenny) into passive voice (Jenny was kissed by Jeremy).
I take every opportunity to make the distinction and to sound the alarm: “to be” is not the writer’s enemy. Yes, even a quick read of many manuscripts reveals that the author has used “to be” excessively, resulting in passages of heavy, dull prose. Few of us who read contest entries have been spared the awkward, confusing sentences created by passive voice. But linking verbs and passive voice are tools the writer needs. Both have their uses. I’d hate to have a character ask “What name do you claim?” rather than “Who are you?”
Take a look at the following passage from Julia Ross’s historical romance The Seduction:
His hair was tied neatly at the back of his neck, but it rippled at the temples where a more elaborate style had been brushed out. The blond waves framed skin with the fashionable pallor of London, enhanced by a small patch high on one cheekbone. Arrogance was reflected in every line of his body, enhanced, not hidden, by the full-skirted riding coat, the tall boots, the fall of white linen at his throat.
A town gentleman, dressed for the country.
His moment of surprised admiration had been masked quickly enough, but it had been there. She had suffered from it all her life. It was the way men always looked at her, as if she were fruit, and ripe, and ready for plucking. Even after she suppressed her moment of panic, it still filled her with fury.
Ross uses four passive voice verbs (“was tied,” “had been brushed out,” “was reflected,” and “had been masked”) and three linking verbs (“had been,” “was,” and “were”) in this brief selection. We can rewrite Ross’s sentences to eliminate the “problem” verbs.
Someone had tied his hair neatly at the back of his neck, but it rippled at the temples where a more elaborate style had been brushed out. The blond waves framed skin with the fashionable pallor of London, enhanced by a small patch high on one cheekbone. Every line of his body reflected arrogance, enhanced, not hidden, by the full-skirted riding coat, the tall boots, the fall of white linen at his throat.
A town gentleman, dressed for the country.
He had masked his moment of surprised admiration quickly enough, but she had seen it there. She had suffered from it all her life. Men always looked at her that way, looked at her like fruit, and ripe, and ready for plucking. Even after she suppressed her moment of panic, it still filled her with fury.
But look at what is lost in the change. First, the rhythm of the prose changes, as does the voice. Moreover, meaning is altered in subtle ways. Does the reader care who ties his hair? I don’t think so, but there is “someone” in a position of strong emphasis. The arrogance of the character is key, but the revision buries the quality in the sentence. And the force of the heroine’s being the object of male gazes is muted in the rewrite.
Ross is a gifted stylist, and she knows how to use action verbs when she needs them. Note this passage from the same chapter as the first selection—every verb but one expresses action:
Her fingers felt clumsy and heavy as she unbuttoned the front of his waistcoat, then opened his shirt at the neck. The strong skin of his throat gleamed smooth and white in the mottled light. She noticed the perfect shape of his jaw at the strangely vulnerable junction where it curved up into his ear and felt a small surge of discomfort, as if she were a young farm girl winked at by a gentleman.
Try this exercise with a writer whose style you admire. My guess is that you will discover the writer uses her full arsenal of verbs.
About the author
Janga started reading her mother’s romance novels the summer she turned ten and has continued to be an avid reader of romance. Even a Ph. D. in English and years in academia were not enough to diminish her love of the genre. The enthusiasm of aspiring romance writers on the Eloisa James bulletin board refired her dream of writing a romance novel. She is in the process of revising her first mss, The Long Way Home, a contemporary with a Southern accent. She blogs at Romance Vagabonds and Just Janga.
Posted in Mechanics
Tagged active verb, grammar, grammar rules, passive voice, passivity, rules, strong verb, to be, verb, voice
3 Comments
To split or to boldly split!
I’ve been pretty bold in our verb series so far, so I won’t stop today. Legend has it that this is a sin against good grammar:
To boldly go where no man has gone before
I know—can you believe it?! They put a modifier between the “to” and the verb in the infinitive form. I know we’ve all committed this venial sin at least once. (Come on, raise your hands—there’s no shame here.)
Good news: I absolve you. Because there’s no such thing as a split infinitive.
I know, right now you’re sputtering in disbelief: “But—but—but my crit partner/mother/English teacher/editor said…”
Your crit partner/mother/English teacher/editor is a lovely person, I’m sure. I’m also quite certain that s/he has a firm grasp upon most of the finer points of the English language, syntax, grammar, etc. In fact, that’s probably why s/he repeated this notorious lie to you.
But the truth of the matter is that split infinitives are not wrong in English. The split infinitive rule, like the “don’t end a sentence in a preposition” rule, is made up.
GASP
Yeah, most of the rules of grammar are made up. They were codified by someone who wrote a book. (My rant on why writing a book doesn’t make you an authority on writing will have to wait for another day 
.) The “don’t split infinitives” rule was first written in 1834. In fact, in Middle English, infinitives were split all the time.
Granted, sometimes split infinitives are awkward. If that’s the case, avoid, avoid, avoid! But if it’s more natural to split the infinitive, ignore anyone who cites this pedantic rule.
I’ll be honest: I don’t mind grammatical pedantry over some issues: the subjective mood, for example. However, I’m opposed to most grammar rules like the split infinitive rule because they’re artificial and awkward (and not just a little because I have a degree in Linguistics, where we’re not allowed to use rules to prescribe how you should construct language, but to describe how people actually use it).
Join the ranks of John Donne, Benjamin Franklin, William Wordsworth, Abraham Lincoln, Henry James, and Willa Cather and defy this rule. If people can still understand the meaning of your sentence and splitting the infinitive and ending in a preposition are the best way to go, do it! I give you permission. Heck, I’ll even write your editor a note .
Posted in Mechanics
Tagged grammar, grammar rules, split infinitive, split infinitives, verb
2 Comments
Animus and animacy
One of my favorite “nongrammatical” sentences from my Linguistics textbooks was:
*My theory rolled down the hill.
(The asterisk denotes it’s nongrammatical.)
Nope, that’s not just nonsensical, it’s nongrammatical. Why? A little thing I like to call “animacy mismatch.” Theories can take verbs (oh, look, it just did):
My theory is awesomer than yours.
My theory explains everything that has ever happened.
Your theory disappoints me.
So why can’t theories roll down hills? Because rolling requires a certain amount of “animacy”—being alive/moving/changing as opposed to being . . . well, inanimate.
Animacy mismatches extend to other grammatical areas. You can have an animacy mismatch with an object (“He thinks the book” as an attempt at a complete sentence.), or a wh-question word (“What thinks the book is stupid?”—”What” questions are answered with objects; “who” questions are answered with people. Does an object or a person think the book is stupid?).
Sometimes, however, animacy mismatches aren’t as clear as theories rolling down hills. Anything strike you as funny about these examples?
- Jerrica is a glut of information.
- The pie, which was only $7.99 full price, so $6.29 didn’t seem like a great deal, ran the sale.
- The stench of week old garbage brushed her nostrils.
- Her euphoria ebbed.
To me, these examples sound a little off. Can a stench brush (if so, that’s one powerful smell!)? Have you ever seen a pie run anything? They might be okay—animacy can be a slippery thing. Can “a feeling of well being” really “fall back or fall away”? Maybe, if you’re writing in a somewhat literary register (even then, unless you’re already using liquid words to describe emotions ["elation flooded her heart"] it’s still a bit of a stretch—you might want to go with a verb requiring a little less animacy, such as fade).
In our search for the right word, sometimes we have to get a little creative. And of course, the style we’re writing in (genre vs. literary fiction, Shakespearean iambic pentameter vs. prose) can play a big role in what is acceptable. But if ever you’ve been wondering how Jerrica turned into a collective noun, now you know why!
What “animacy mismatches” have you found, in your own work or in others’ (I swear someone is putting mistakes in my writing )? What phrases just never seem right to you?
Past progressive (imperfect) vs. passive
Our verb series continues!
Think of the differences between these examples:
| She was crying. | She cried. | |
| He entered the room. She leaned toward the door, eavesdropping. | He entered the room. She was leaning toward the door, eavesdropping. | |
| He smiled at her. | He was smiling at her. | He was still smiling. |
There are lots of books and websites out there that will tell you that the verb “was” and the construct “was [verb]ing” is passive voice. It’s not.
Can I repeat that? The construct “was [verb]ing” is NOT passive voice.
The passive voice means that the actor is not in the subject position. Instead, the thing acted upon is in the subject position. Most people can identify this:
Passive (obvious): The conversation was heard by him.
Passive (sneakier): The conversation was heard.
Active: He heard the conversation.
Note here, too, that the passive voice isn’t past tense. It’s also seen in the present tense (and all the others): The conversation is/will be/would be/could be/might be heard by him.
There are sometimes occasions when the passive voice is called for, or even necessary—to conceal the actor, or if the POV character doesn’t know who the actor is. But mostly the passive voice is awkward and thus to be avoided. (Catch the passive in there?)
The construct “was [verb]ing” is the past progressive (or imperfect) tense. (Again, it’s NOT the passive voice.) Compare the examples at the beginning of this post. How does “She was crying” differ from “She cried”? To me, “she was crying” means tears were falling. “She cried” is most likely a speech tag. If not, it almost seems like she’s done crying. Maybe my Spanish training is showing here, but can I just clarify that this is the preterite?
Note that the past progressive is necessary to show an ongoing action in the past. In the second example, when does the leaning start? In “He entered the room. She leaned . . .” the simple past tense (preterite) can indicate consecutive actions—he walks in, then she leans. In “He entered the room. She was leaning . . .” the progressive shows an ongoing action that began before the simple past action—he walks in and finds her already leaning. If you really hate the imperfect, you can rephrase this as “He found her leaning against the door, eavesdropping, when he walked in the room,” or some such.
The third example, “He smiled/was smiling/was still smiling” might have a few more shades in it. When I picture these, I see someone break into a smile for “He smiled.” “He was smiling” show someone already grinning. “He was still smiling” is a bit more specialized—we’ve already seen him begin to smile (or just smiling) . . . and he’s still at it. (Don’t you wish he’d stop?)
When using a “was [verb]ing,” be sure it’s on purpose, to generate a specific effect—and don’t overuse it, or it kills that effect. If that’s why you’re using it, and it seems to be working, don’t let anyone bully you out of it, especially if they claim it’s “passive.”
What are some other good uses for past progressive tense and passive voice? Let me know!
Posted in Mechanics
Tagged conjugation, diction, grammar, imperfect, passive voice, passivity, past progressive, preterite, tense, verb, voice
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