This one has to do with writing—specifically, writing fiction prose. I want to talk about a common struggle both novice and advanced writers face: the problem of putting thoughts to paper in one's own unique style but in a way that others will understand. I’ll draw from my own experience as well some advice that the popular English author Philip Pullman has offered on the topic.
Where we go wrong
What leads to this problem? For one thing, there is often a kind of fixed urge to write in a way that seems elaborate or grandiose, but that unnecessarily elongates simple ideas or is otherwise obscure. To be fair, this desire is not entirely unfounded. Anyone who’s read extensively from a certain era of classic literature will be drawn to this style. You’ll want to spend time reveling in your descriptions. You may be put off by prose that does nothing more than tell the reader what is going on. You might even think “said he” is always superior to “he said.”
For some, this can work. Though most of today’s successful writers make things simple by sticking to the point, some tend to linger on certain ideas a little longer than could be considered ideal. And for them, it works. There are those who enjoy this style of writing, who find its quality—rooted in that of countless famous literary figures—to be attractive. However, we should try and dispel the idea that such writing is somehow superior to contemporary notions of prose, that to write in a way that mimics English authors of the early twentieth century is to be highly refined or professional. I should add that this is something I myself have struggled to dismiss. It’s also not uncommon to want to increase the word count of a story, even if it means adding unnecessary details.
Again, this is not a universal perspective. Many authors write quite literally. The point is that no one thinks less of them because of it. For one thing, it can be easier, and that means it’ll take less time. Being able to write faster means you can do more in the time you have, and doing more is certainly valuable in a highly competitive marketplace like today’s publishing industry. For another, using prose that is easy to digest will allow your writing to reach a larger audience.
Obscurity vs Clarity
“The aim,” said Pullman in a 2002 speech, “must always be clarity. It’s tempting to feel that if a passage of writing is obscure, it must be very deep. But if the water is murky, the bottom might be only an inch below the surface—you just can’t tell.”
Pullman illustrates the point I’m trying to set forth. If you’re writing obscurely just for the sake of being obscure, you’re likely to only drive people away. Readers can tell. So don’t spend time on meaningless descriptions.
That said, description can be a good thing. Any good tale will have some sort of description: you need to set each room apart from all the others. Readers need to get a sense of the setting and characters of your story. So writing with clarity doesn’t mean leaving out descriptions. Descriptive writing is especially welcome when used to portray sensory details from a character’s point of view. This is because it not only provides the setting, but also gives the reader an insight into one or more characters. A great rule of thumb is to only use descriptions insofar as they establish your characters’ viewpoints or perceptions. That way, you’re making the most out of every word.
A word about hard-to-understand words
There’s no harm in using big words when the time is right. But there are dangers to overusing them. It can make your reader feel disconnected from the story, as if they’re reading a historical account rather than a piece of fiction. This style of writing can quickly get repetitive, especially if you have no good reason for trying to imitate such a writing style. And your readers will typically know if you’re including complex words just to sound fancy.
The balance
There’s a balance to be had. You want your prose to have some elegance—no one wants to read “Alice walked to the door. ‘Goodbye,’ she said to George. She walked through the door and along the sidewalk to the shop, where she bought four pineapples and a bag of plastic sporks and left and went back home.” That conveys what’s going on, but it’s also dry, minimalistic, and unnecessarily tight. Most importantly, it fails to convey anything of significance about either of the characters. If you want to write with clarity, you have to know your characters and know what they’d do, even in the most mundane of situations. What habits are unique to them? Can you define your characters by how they see the world? This is where description—and yes, sometimes elaborate prose—really shines. Just be cautious.
Pullman continues: “It’s much better to write in such a way that the readers can see all the way down; but that’s not the end of it, because you then have to provide interesting things down there for them to look at.”
This clarifies one last point I think it’s important to touch on. Pullman preserves his stance about vagueness but gives us a hint as to one instance when heavy description may be necessary. It should be there at the bottom of the well. In storytelling, you can think about description as a reward for getting somewhere.
A good rule of thumb is that elaboration trumps elaborate prose. How do your descriptions contribute to the development of the plot or of your characters? If they don’t, don’t include them. Write to tell the reader what is happening. Write with clarity.
As always, remember to get feedback on your writing. Try new things. Get out into the world for inspiration. That’ll be a future topic we’ll discuss. Until then, I’d encourage you to always write down your thoughts, and, if you’re writing for other people, make it obvious what’s happening. You’re unlikely to regret it.