Tag Archives: sentence construction

Mechanics, Technique

Fix-It Friday: Fixing overstuffed sentences

Two weeks ago, we looked at a couple overstuffed sentences—sentences where I was putting too much information in, and tripping up my readers. fifI learned my lesson about overstuffed sentences from editor & RITA-award winning author Alicia Rasley, when she line edited four sentences for me (emphasis added):

Don’t make your reader work so hard to figure out what you’re getting at. Try writing it plainly first, to make sure you’re getting it across, then embellish. But really, I think you’re trying to do too much for one paragraph. This might not have bothered me in two paragraphs or three, if you took your time and really explored what was happening . . . . If that’s too attenuated, see what’s important to keep and make sure everything is clear.

As I’ve said before, sentences should work hard for us as writers and serve several purposes. But there’s a limit to how much you can pack into a sentence or paragraph and still be intelligible to readers.

Another really important point here is that dense (= packed) writing isn’t always better. Sometimes it makes the reader feel dense (= stupid). If something is really important to the story action or the character, often that weight should be matched by the amount of real estate that event gets.

Or as Alicia put it,

If it’s worth stating, . . . it’s worth developing or exemplifying or showing. . . .

I know I’m always saying, “Take it slow.” But don’t try to compress too much.

So, how should we fix our examples from last week?

#1: blow up the emotion

How must the buildings that were so familiar she hardly noticed them look to Father O’Leary? Three years ago, she compared the Gothic chapel, its stone façade flanked by blazing maples in a carpet of lawn, to her parents’ church in city center. At the time, St. Adelaide seemed a suburban oasis; three weeks ago she was disabused of that notion.

“I’m sure it’ll get to feelin’ like home soon enough,” she murmured.

Along with other excellent feedback from editors Alicia & Theresa and other commentators, the passage in question eventually grew—the first paragraph (three sentences) expanded into three paragraphs (eight sentences):

He scanned the whole scene, as if surveying the squat brick school, the rectory, the Gothic chapel’s stone façade flanked by blazing maples in a carpet of lawn. The dismay in his expression dissolved with his satisfied nod. St. Adelaide must seem like a suburban oasis to him.

Three weeks ago, Molly had been disabused of that notion. Now the idyllic scene carried a sinister undertone so strong she couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. She hadn’t even noticed when the maples turned red.

Father O’Leary sighed and looked to her. How could she tell him the truth and shatter his illusion? “It’ll get to feelin’ like home soon enough,” she murmured.

I agreed that this event was important enough to give it more real estate in the book—but it’s not like I devoted an entire chapter to this. Just a few more sentences here made the passage clearer and gave it greater emotional impact.

Note that I decided the reference to the past (three years ago) was not actually worth including, since it distracted from the present—it wasn’t important enough to explore, and thus it probably wasn’t important enough to include.

But you don’t always have to blow it up quite that much. Sometimes, breaking up the action and simply fixing the sequencing is enough.

#2: sequencing and clarity

This is an actual sentence from the first draft of my WIP:

I slip onto the back porch, but the door latch I’m expecting to hear behind me doesn’t come by the time I reach the stairs.

My problems with this:

  • Awkward wording, especially “the door latch I’m expecting to hear behind me doesn’t come”
  • Is the door latch an object? “I’m expecting to” doesn’t tell us right away
  • Most of all, the sequencing is all over the place. She leaves, we don’t see her shutting the door, there’s a sound (or object?), she’s expecting the sound—oh, wait, there’s no sound, stairs?
  • Seriously, where did these stairs come from?

Here’s how I actually fixed it:

I slip onto the back porch, letting the door swing shut behind me. But by the time I reach the stairs down to the yard, the door still hasn’t latched.

The ideas are all still there, but now I’m explaining what happens in order, without skipping steps. She goes onto the porch and shuts the door. She reaches the stairs (which go somewhere that makes sense now) and realizes the door hasn’t latched. Voilà.

And the word count difference? Five words.

Neither of these are going to win a Pulitzer 😉 but perhaps the serviceable lines should be even more smooth to keep your reader moving on to the big stuff, right?

Onward!

#3: breathing room

Those fears and feelings, raw and vulnerable, echoing through me, must be why I finally have to pull back to wipe away my tears.

Also a line from my WIP, this is just a few paragraphs after the above. Kind of a lot to digest all at once, isn’t it?

Again, the change is really simple here, and right to the point: that’s just too much for one little sentence to handle, so we make it two. My fix:

Those fears and feelings, raw and vulnerable, echo through me. Finally I have to pull back to wipe away my tears.

Is it less powerful as two sentences? I don’t think so. In fact, there are some things I like about it better. Instead of stuffing everything into one thought (for what reason?), we give the two important thoughts there a little more room to breathe. It gives each of them a little more time to make an impact.

Oh, and the word difference? -3.

What do you think? Have you found any overstuffed sentences in your writing? How do you fix them? Come share!

Photo credits: tools—HomeSpot HQ; overstuffed beef ravioli—George Hatcher

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Mechanics, Technique

Fix-it Friday: Overstuffed sentences

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Line-editing is now part of editing my book Fix-It Fridays!

fifWay back in our Secret Sauce Series, we talked about overstuffed sentences—sentences where we’re trying too hard to appear writerly, putting too much information, being entirely too clever, and just generally confounding our readers.

Once upon a time, I must have held a subconscious belief that a “real” writer made their sentences work two and three times as hard. That’s probably true in a way—each action of a story, each scene and maybe each sentence can accomplish more than one thing.

But instead, I took that to mean that the more complex a sentence, the better. But that’s simply not the case. Yes, sentences should work hard for us as writers and serve several purposes. But there’s a limit to how much you can pack into a sentence or paragraph and still be intelligible to readers.

Here are a couple such overweighted sentences from my own works:

#1 (the passage that taught me this lesson!)

How must the buildings that were so familiar she hardly noticed them look to Father O’Leary? Three years ago, she compared the Gothic chapel, its stone façade flanked by blazing maples in a carpet of lawn, to her parents’ church in city center. At the time, St. Adelaide seemed a suburban oasis; three weeks ago she was disabused of that notion.

“I’m sure it’ll get to feelin’ like home soon enough,” she murmured.

And #2

I slip onto the back porch, but the door latch I’m expecting to hear behind me doesn’t come by the time I reach the stairs.

And #3

Those fears and feelings, raw and vulnerable, echoing through me, must be why I finally have to pull back to wipe away my tears.

Next time (Sept 13 27!), I’ll share how I fixed them—but first, what would you do? Come share!

Photo by HomeSpot HQ

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Technique

Secret sauce: stuffing too much into one sentence

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This entry is part 14 of 16 in the series Spilling the secret sauce

Once upon a time, I must have held a subconscious belief that a “real” writer made their sentences work two and three times as hard. That’s probably true in a way—each action of a story, each scene and maybe each sentence can accomplish more than one thing.

But instead, I took that to mean that the more complex a sentence, the better. I think the problematic present participial phrases we looked at last week can be a symptom of the same problem: trying to stuff too much into one sentence. (And also, trying to sound writerly.)

Learning my lesson

I’ve long been an avid reader of the blog edittorrent, run by editors Theresa Stevens and Alicia Rasley. Almost four years ago, they asked for victims volunteers for on-the-blog edits, and I signed up with a short sample, a few sentences that were giving some of my beta readers problems.

And Alicia told me exactly why (emphasis added):

Don’t make your reader work so hard to figure out what you’re getting at. Try writing it plainly first, to make sure you’re getting it across, then embellish. But really, I think you’re trying to do too much for one paragraph. This might not have bothered me in two paragraphs or three, if you took your time and really explored what was happening . . . . If that’s too attenuated, see what’s important to keep and make sure everything is clear.

Yes, sentences should work hard for us as writers and serve several purposes. But there’s a limit to how much you can pack into a sentence or paragraph and still be intelligible to readers.

Another really important point here is that dense (= packed) writing isn’t always better. Sometimes it makes the reader feel dense (= stupid). If something is really important to the story action or the character, often that weight should be matched by the amount of real estate that event gets.

Or as Alicia put it,

If it’s worth stating, . . . it’s worth developing or exemplifying or showing. . . .

I know I’m always saying, “Take it slow.” But don’t try to compress too much.

Now, if it had just been me, I probably would have dismissed this advice as a general principle, applying it only to this passage and skipping merrily along with my writing life. However, it seemed to me that one of the recurring themes in Alicia’s awesome line editing series was to slow down and draw out the implications and impact of events in our writing, really showcasing our characters.

Applying the special sauce

These sample edits were done on a passage of 4 sentences:

How must the buildings that were so familiar she hardly noticed them look to Father O’Leary? Three years ago, she compared the Gothic chapel, its stone façade flanked by blazing maples in a carpet of lawn, to her parents’ church in city center. At the time, St. Adelaide seemed a suburban oasis; three weeks ago she was disabused of that notion.

“I’m sure it’ll get to feelin’ like home soon enough,” she murmured.

Along with other excellent feedback from Alicia & Theresa and other commentators, the passage in question eventually grew—the first paragraph (three sentences) expanded into three paragraphs (eight sentences):

He scanned the whole scene, as if surveying the squat brick school, the rectory, the Gothic chapel’s stone façade flanked by blazing maples in a carpet of lawn. The dismay in his expression dissolved with his satisfied nod. St. Adelaide must seem like a suburban oasis to him.

Three weeks ago, Molly had been disabused of that notion. Now the idyllic scene carried a sinister undertone so strong she couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. She hadn’t even noticed when the maples turned red.

Father O’Leary sighed and looked to her. How could she tell him the truth and shatter his illusion? “It’ll get to feelin’ like home soon enough,” she murmured.

I agreed that this event was important enough to give it more real estate in the book—but it’s not like I devoted an entire chapter to this. Just a few more sentences here made the passage clearer and gave it greater emotional impact.

Note that I decided the reference to the past (three years ago) was not actually worth including, since it distracted from the present—it wasn’t important enough to explore, and thus it probably wasn’t important enough to include.

What do you think? Have you ever overstuffed your sentences? Come share!

Photo credits: overstuffed beef ravioli—George Hatcher; red maple—Rudolf Ammann; both via Flickr/Creative Commons

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Mechanics

Fix-It Friday Answers: Dangling & Misplaced Modifiers

A couple weeks ago, we looked at misplaced modifiers\. One of my favorite examples allegedly comes from a medical transcription (but I’ve also seen it credited to a fifpolice blotter):

A man was bitten by a bat walking down the street on his thumb.

Modifiers—adjectives, adverbs, prepositional phrases, even participial phrases—should usually come as close to the word they’re modifying as they can. While we can (eventually) figure out the man was bitten on his thumb, that sentence says he was “walking down the street on his thumb.” (In fact, it says the bat was walking down the street on his thumb. The bat’s? The man’s? The world may never know!)

So we looked at some examples of dangling & misplaced modifiers—but sometimes it’s a heck of a lot easeire to learn with the answers, right?

There are multiple correct answers to all these.

Sensing her brother was about to pounce, he bent his knees, ready to jump at her.

The Problem: Okay, this was was a little ambiguous because we used pronouns. There are only supposed to be two people involved in this sentence, “her” and “her brother.” Here’s what I was going for:

Sensing her brother was about to pounce is supposed to be modifying “her.” What is she doing? Sensing (something). If she’s doing the sensing in the first clause, she’s supposed to be the subject of the second clause.

Instead (what I intended), the next clause is he bent his knees. Suddenly the brother is the subject of the sentence. Was he the one sensing he was about to pounce on her? Of course not.

The Fix: when we rephrase this, we need to make her the subject of the sentence, or get rid of the first clause altogether. Possibilities:

  • Sensing her brother was about to pounce, she braced herself. He bent his knees, ready to jump at her.
  • He bent his knees, ready to jump at her. (Doing away with the first clause altogether. If we’re in his POV, this version is more appropriate.)

(Now, if you thought “he” was a third party, that might be a different story.)

He couldn’t believe she was standing there after their conversation yesterday doing the dishes on the sidewalk.

The Problem: The way this is phrased, their conversation took place yesterday (okay). The conversation might have been yesterday while she was doing dishes on the sidewalk. Or she might be standing there doing dishes on the sidewalk today. Either way, dishes on the sidewalk?

The Fix: First, we have to decide how things actually happened. Here are some possible scenarios:

  • He couldn’t believe she was standing there on the sidewalk after their conversation while doing the dishes yesterday. (The time and place of each conversation are now clear: the conversation was during doing dishes yesterday, and now she’s standing on the sidewalk.) (Yesterday could also come a little earlier in the sentence.)
  • After their conversation yesterday while doing dishes, he couldn’t believe she was standing there on the sidewalk.

Now, if she’s actually doing dishes on the sidewalk . . .

The “while” is a big helper, too! But if you stick it in the original sentence—oy! He couldn’t believe she was standing there after their conversation yesterday while doing the dishes on the sidewalk. It clears up the ambiguity, but I don’t think that’s the meaning we want—their conversation was yesterday while they were on the sidewalk, doing dishes?

At the age of seven, his father told him the truth.

The Problem: Remember that modifiers generally come closest to what they’re modifying—and at the beginning of a sentence, this is always the case. Grammatically speaking, this construction actually says the father was seven years old when he told him (the son) the truth. A bit young for fatherhood, eh?

Yes, a reader can figure out that we mean the son was seven here, but sensitive readers and grammarians will be pulled out of the story. Plus, do you want someone to have to “figure out” your meaning?

The Fix is pretty straightforward.

  • His father told him the truth when he was seven.

Now, someone who is purposefully trying to misread your sentence might take that as ambiguous or misplaced, but it’s now closest to “him.” And honestly, if someone is purposefully trying to misread your writing, they’re probably not the best person for the job of a critique partner or editor?

Running from the scene, the horror clung to his mind.

The Problem: Again, it’s that initial first element. It modifies the subject of the sentence. The subject here is “the horror,” so this construction means the horror was running from the scene.

This story definitely has my attention . . .

The Fix: as always, is to move the elements around to get the modifier closest to what it’s modifying. This means either moving it or changing the subject of the sentence:

  • The horror clung to his mind as he ran from the scene.
  • Running from the scene, he tamped down the horror still clinging to his mind.

“As mayor of Park City, people often ask me . . . “

(I forget the rest of the sentence, but that was an actual commercial. Agh!)

The Problem: This construction, once again, makes mayor of Park City = people. And yes, humans are mayors of Park City, but usually not collectively and simultaneously.

The Fix: Move! those! modifiers!

  • People often ask me as mayor of Park City . . .
  • As mayor of Park City, I’m often asked . . .

Note that the second solution is (gasp!) passive voice. While it’s usually something to be avoided we want to avoid, passive voice does have an actual, grammatical function and a useful place in the language.

“At 26 ounces, you’ll find yourself drinking more.”

(Another actual commercial)

The Problem: At 26 ounces, you’ll have more problems than how much to drink. That’s taking the dieting a bit far, don’t you think?

The Fix:

  • With a 26 ounce capacity, this cup will help you drink more. (I’m sorry, is this the problem or the solution?)
  • You’ll find yourself drinking more with this 26-ounce cup.

“One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. (How he got into my pajamas I’ll never know.)”

Thank you, Groucho.

The Problem: This is obviously quite intentional. If you want to set up a joke this way, go for it!

The Fix ruins the joke, but here you go:

  • One morning while still in my pajamas, I shot an elephant.

We tiptoed over the ice in our heavy boots, which had begun to crack.

The Problem: Finally we’re moving away from the initial modifiers to the final ones. These can still be tricky! Here, which had begun to crack comes closest to our heavy boots. It’s not much of a stretch to say they’re both part of the prepositional phrase—which means that the boots are the only candidates for cracking.

While that’s a problem, it’s probably not the right problem for the writer.

The Fix: Move that modifier! Here we can collapse the phrase into a single word, maybe a hyphenation:

  • We tiptoed over the cracking ice in our heavy boots.
  • We tiptoed over the now-cracking ice in our heavy boots.
  • (A most interesting option) Our heavy boots tiptoed over the ice. A sharp creak ripped through the air. A fissure zigzagged through the solid white below us.

If you’ve got a problem with the last one, I suggest studying up on metonymy. And if that doesn’t help, you’d probably enjoy Dr. Seuss’s story about haunted pants, “What Was I Afraid Of?”

“McCance was found shot to death by her family Monday afternoon at her southern Wake County home.”

(Actual news article.)

The Problem: Um, not sure what the problem was, but whatever it was, her family shot her to death over it.

Possibly that’s what they meant. Probably it isn’t.

The Fix:

    McCance was found by her family Monday afternoon, shot to death at her southern Wake County home.
  • Shot to death, McCance was found by her family Monday afternoon at her southern Wake County home.
  • McCance’s family found her Monday afternoon, shot to death at her southern Wake County home.

There are lots more.

“Nearly six months after taking office, Gov. Beverly Perdue’s political honeymoon is over.”

(Actual news article.)

The Problem: The initial element, nearly six months after taking office, modifies the subject of the sentence—but the tricky thing here is that good ol’ Bev is not the subject of the sentence—her political honeymoon is.

The Fix: drop that possessive and make sure the governor is the subject of the sentence, or rephrase.

  • Nearly six months after taking office, Gov. Beverly Perdue has passed her political honeymoon.
  • Nearly six months after she took office, Gov. Beverly Perdue’s political honeymoon is over.

Why does the second one work? That little change from “taking” to “she took.” The “taking” is clearly dependent on the subject of the sentence (originally her political honeymoon), while “she took” has its own subject.

“As a parent, the so-called “Halo killer” may have you nervously watching your kids as they jab at their joysticks.”

(Actual news article.)

The Problem: the so-called “Halo killer” is now a parent.

Also, two as’s in the same sentence?

The Fix: Do we need “as a parent” at all?

  • The so-called “Halo killer” may have parents nervously watching their kids as they jab at their joysticks. (May introduce other ambiguity problems.)
  • The so-called “Halo killer” may have you nervously watching your kids as they jab at their joysticks.

“After grounding her grandson, Allen Gann, from playing games the night before for not doing his chores, he sat down and played a full day’s worth, including Resident Evil, Smackdown vs. Raw and Midnight Club 2.”

(Same article as the previous.)

The Problem: This one is so convoluted that it may be a little hard to see the problem. (Were it not for the other dangling modifier from the same example, I’d say the reporter just got a little lost in this sentence.)

Okay. Let’s simplify this a little by taking out some of the modifiers that are getting in the way of the problem. The first clause of the sentence begins After grounding her grandson, Allen Gann. Allen Gann = grandson, so we’ll drop the appositive, and the prepositional phrases we’ll ignore for right now:

After grounding her grandson . . . , he sat down and played.

This goes back to the same problem as #1. Unless there’s some other “he” here (Grandpa?) who sat down and played after grounding the female third person POV character’s grandson, we’re all messed up.

The Fix: Make grandma the subject of the sentence, or make the grandson the subject of the initial dependent clause:

  • After grounding her grandson, Allen Gann, from playing games the night before for not doing his chores, Grandma didn’t notice when he sat down and played a full day’s worth, including Resident Evil, Smackdown vs. Raw and Midnight Club 2.
  • After being grounding (by his grandmother) from playing games the night before for not doing his chores, Allen Gann sat down and played a full day’s worth, including Resident Evil, Smackdown vs. Raw and Midnight Club 2.
  • Realistically, the best fix is to break this unwieldy thing down! Grandma grounded her grandson, Allen Gann, from playing games (because he failed to do his chores). However, the following day, Gann sat down and played a full day’s worth, including Resident Evil, Smackdown vs. Raw and Midnight Club 2.

Much better!

Work better on paper? Download the original worksheet as a PDF and print! Can’t get enough? Lots more examples to play with!

Photo credits: tools—HomeSpot HQ, dirty dishes—Teresia;elephant—Roger; video games—w?odi

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