The Power Of Description: Part Four (Misuse)

So, if adjectives and adverbs are so great, why do so many writing books and mentors tell you to go back and cull?

Well, because misuse of adjectives and adverbs is rampant among amateur writers. Too many (not all) amateur writers do not work on honing their craft, understanding the language, appreciating the nuances. As with any work of art, there are at least three key elements. (1) technical skill, (2) Inspiration/talent and (3) the quality of the material you're using. I'm not saying an incredible artistic genius can't make something timeless with newsprint and crayons, but it takes a great deal more work.

Understanding one's language, for writing, is key to both 1 and 3. You have to be supremely talented (or inordinately lucky) to make it on 2 alone. In my opinion.

So, here are some problems with misusing adjectives and adverbs, the kind of things that make editors and readers slap their heads or, worse, close the book.

Too many adjectives.

Hugo von Thirdenburg rode swiftly over the rolling verdant hills of endless carefully tended succulent spring grass, soft and freshly mowed, a deep emerald green in the warm golden glow of the sun.

Ouch! Aside from the redundancy (which we have in abundance), what have we really said? Hugo's riding over a nice lawn. And, truthfully, what does that really tell us about the story? How does it help us? We don't know why he's riding, whether he's riding swiftly to exercise his horse or because of urgency and, since we don't even know if the lawns are his, it's hard to tell if their state is important. It can help set the scene, but we don't need all this and there are other ways, using far fewer words, to tell us much more.

Hugo von Thirdenburg thundered over his pristine lawn, heedless of the damage left in his horse's wake.

Ah. In just over half the number of words, we know more about Hugo. He's still riding over a nice lawn (succinctly yet exhaustively described as "pristine"), but we know he's well enough to do to have gardeners handle their care and, either too self-important to care about the damage done with his riding or inflicted with an urgency. This sentence also has an urgency lacking in the meandering of the first.

Great description lies not in the number of adjectives, but how well they convey the meaning intended. If you want to describe the Thirdenburg estate, do so, but use only what adds to the meaning. But, if something important's happening, don't lose focus to add detail that will not enhance the story.

Using adverbs instead of speaking verbs/adjectives.

An adverb can be quite a fine addition to a sentence, but it often becomes a prop to allow for unimaginative verbs or adjectives. Strong speaking verbs can add considerable power and make the needs or action far more immediate.

Hugo rode swiftly vs. thundered.
Lance stared longingly vs. thirsted.
Violet was becoming desperately hot vs. grew feverish vs. wilted.
Margot said furiously vs. hissed.*
Malcolm shouted furiously vs. raged.
Kada swung her sword forcefully vs. sliced.

This is particularly important during action where clean writing is essential, especially if the action individual is also the POV. A bystander might note the beauty of the glimmering arc of a sword before decapitation, but the actual swordsperson is probably too busy to worry about stuff like that.

Using the wrong damn word.

If I knew how, this heading would be flashing, too. This is one of my all time biggest pet peeves and will turn me off a writer almost instantly. I call it the thesaurus syndrome and, far too often, I'm convinced a writer looks for impressive-sounding alternatives to a word without a real understanding of the nuances of his synonym. Vermilion, ruby, maroon, puce, scarlet, crimson, garnet, and burgundy are all reds, but not the same shade of red. They are specific reds or families of reds. For instance, burgundy and vermilion should not be used interchangeably. (Vermilion, in fact, is a particular shade of ink that only the Chinese Emperor was allowed to use, bright or orange red) In fact, even describing blood as scarlet or maroon is significant (arterial vs. venous). Don't use the words if you don't know which one you want (or which shade of red a term denotes).

This is not just true of adjectives and adverbs, of course, but they are among the most readily misused this way. (For Heaven's sake, folks, ogle has a specific definition. If you don't know what it means, don't use it. It is a synonym for "look" only in the loosest sense.)

Know what your words mean. Describing a simple barmaid as pale and ruddy is not only confusing, it's a good way to advertise one doesn't know what ruddy means (red). A man might be old, but his features aren't grizzled - grizzled means gray-haired, so only the man or his hair can be grizzled. Let the features seamed or wrinkled or worn or lined. They seem like small things, small differences, but they suck the power of these specific little words, skew the meaning, and muddy the picture instead of painting it.

If you don't know what the word means, don't use it.

Not that I'm opinionated or anything.

*"Saidisms", using other words instead of just "he said" or "she said" during dialog is frowned on by quite a faction. I am not one of them. The "saidisms" and bits of actions interspersed through dialog (and I'm a dialog-heavy author) keep it moving and give visual clues. The right "said" verb (and/or actions) can add the inflection you can't write into the words themselves. So, I'm not in that camp.

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The Power Of Description: Part Three (Descriptive Verbs and Nouns)

You thought I was going to tell you what the problems were with adjectives and adverbs - well, I will, but not today, or at least, not entirely.

One reason why how-to books and experts suggest trimming down the adjectives and adverbs is because it can make you lazy and also because, with the right noun or verb, you give a wealth of detail. I can describe someone as rigid and brave and wearing a uniform and armed. Or I can say, a soldier, a martinet, a regimental, a GI, a drill sergeant.

By being specific with nouns, I can instantly convey a wealth of information. I don't have to explain the garb of a nun nor mention she's unlikely to be wearing make-up or guzzling scotch. I don't have to mention that babies are drooling or somewhat bald or short or desperately cute and largely helpless. All that comes with the word "baby". An atl-atl is a weapon (though most readers would probably appreciate a description), but a sword tells a reader more than a blade and a rapier or broadsword says more than a sword.

Verbs are one of the best ways to bring a scene to life. The right verb can add subtlety to movement, or add meaning to a gesture.

Let me show you what I mean:

The man walked across the room and laughed before he taking her hand.

vs.

The man minced across the room and tittered before clasping her hand.

vs.

The man strode across the room and guffawed before gripping her hand.

Same action, but the reader knows a great deal more about the type of person, the setting, the time frame. Better nouns would also help, but I could still surmise the second example is a supercilious official or a drag queen while the third could readily be a cowboy or a lumberjack.

Either could also be ordinary men in a situation made clearer because the verbs have defined how they are acting with increased precision.

But, there's a dark side to this. Using language that provides nuance and definition requires a much better understanding of vocabulary, making sure things work together in harmony to convey exactly the image desired. As words become more precise, there is a risk of conflict if words don't work together or are used outside their true meaning.

Take, for instance, this sentence:

The man strode across the room and tittered before clasping her hand.

vs.

The man minced across the room and guffawed before gripping her hand.

Now, the messages are mixed, contradictory. Instead of readily visualizing the action (and the kind of man described), the reader is left confused, perhaps wrenched from the story.

Precise language saves words and allows one to use a modicum of words when one would might otherwise require a bucketload. But, to use them effectively, to make the most of an extensive vocabulary, one must understand what the words mean so they enhance the context, not contradict it. More on that (and a few other things) next time.

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