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Have you ever read a stretch of dialogue in a novel that became confusing? Maybe you lost sense of the environment and what the characters were meant to be doing, or maybe it wasn’t even clear which character was saying which line. The dialogue is flying back and forth, but there’s nothing else happening on the page. Sound familiar? You may have encountered an example of talking heads syndrome out in the wild, where it should never be caught.

Let’s take a look at it.

What It Is

“Talking heads syndrome” is the name given to dialogue that fails to provide enough context to ground readers within the scene, resulting in a conversation between characters that feel like talking heads floating in space. Instead of being firmly grounded within the established setting and moment, the conversation unfolding feels like it could take place in any location at any time.

The key is giving dialogue context.

Everything in a novel should be deliberate. The setting of a scene and the choice to have characters hold a specific conversation there are not exceptions to that rule. The environment and characters cannot be held still or completely disappear just because a conversation is unfolding. Keeping the world moving around characters and giving them movement and action is crucial; not only does it give the scene life, it makes characters and dialogue more realistic and believable. 

Neglecting to include the details that ground readers and characters within the scene will ruin otherwise good dialogue. Your characters can be having as crucial/funny/groundbreaking a conversation as possible, but it will fall flat and fail to engage readers if the characters are just talking heads. Give the readers everything they need to navigate a conversation.

How to Identify It

Real life conversations don’t rely just on the words that are spoken. Facial expressions, body language, and interactions with the world around you are crucial, revealing, and ever-present elements of conversation. Words going back and forth aren’t enough for dialogue scenes to be realistic and engaging.

It doesn’t take much to identify talking heads syndrome. The lack of action and description that makes your characters’ dialogue realistic will be obvious and will look like lines of dialogue being traded back and forth. You’ll see some dialogue tags and perhaps a rare action beat, but it will be largely devoid of any detail besides the dialogue itself. It will look something like this:

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lilly asked.

“Yeah,” Dorian said. 

“Don’t you think we should maybe think of another plan? Ask someone for help?”

“No. This will work. I trust you.”

“That was your first mistake.”

“This is no time for joking, Lilly.”

“Who said I was joking, Dorian?”

This conversation could happen anywhere, at any time. There is nothing grounding it to a specific location or situation or conveying to readers the tone of the conversation. Are these characters being lighthearted and sarcastic or is there actual tension between them? Even if readers already know where the conversation is taking place—a library, a coffeeshop, a carnival, a city street in the middle of the night—there can’t be a sudden removal of the environment once characters start speaking. The setting still needs to exist around them, with them, as they talk. The characters need to exist as real people who think and react (expressions, small movements, etc.) while holding a conversation.

There are reasons certain conversations happen at specific times in specific locations and your writing must make readers understand and feel that. 

While it’s true that not every line of dialogue requires a dialogue tag or action beat if it’s clear who’s speaking (and avoiding using them when possible adds necessary variety), you don’t want an entire portion of dialogue to be written in this way. If a segment of dialogue in your novel could easily be picked up and moved to a different location without having to edit anything about it, that is a red flag for talking heads syndrome. 

How to Fix it

Action beats are a fantastic way to avoid talking heads syndrome. Not only do action beats help authors avoid overusing dialogue tags (and reaching for less common tags that sound awkward and amateurish), they give life and movement and will add a sense of environment to the scene by showing characters interacting with their setting. You cannot let your characters be utterly still as they talk, just as you cannot let the world slip away so your characters float above it all during their discussion.

Action beats also show (as opposed to tell) characters’ emotional states. They can reveal emotions and motivations in big or small ways; small actions like shifting in a seat or fiddling with a ring or glancing over their shoulder can give readers valuable information and revealing details about a character. Don’t miss this opportunity to add depth to your dialogue with the unspoken.

Flesh out dialogue scenes with sensory details, characters’ inner monologues, let them notice things happening in the environment around them. Give the scene life. 

Let’s look at the example given above again, this time fully fleshed out.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lilly asked, eyeing the tattered rope coiled on the ground before them. 

“Yes,” Dorian said. He reached for the rope and started looping it around his waist. It wasn’t as thick as he’d prefer for something like this, but he’d have to make do.

Lilly pressed a hand to her temple, her ponytail whipping over her shoulder as the wind picked up. “Don’t you think we should maybe think of another plan? Ask someone for help?” There was an edge of panic in her voice that didn’t exactly inspire confidence, since he was about to rappel down the side of the parapet with only her weight on the other end of the rope. She was made of muscle, but the look on her face made him doubt whether she was the right choice.

Securing the last knot of the rope around himself, Dorian said, “No. This will work. I trust you.” He sounded more confident than he felt. 

Lilly took the other end of the rope and started wrapping it around her sweaty, calloused palm.“That was your first mistake.”

Dorian peered down the length of the stone facade that stretched to the ground at least three dozen feet below. The lanterns flickered dimly, but it was still too dark to make out the cobblestones that were his destination. His stomach swooped. “This is no time for joking, Lilly.”

Lilly’s face was tight. “Who said I was joking, Dorian?”

Even if readers already knew Dorian was about to rappel down the side of a building, this passage gives readers so much more to take in. It showcases the tone and emotional state the characters are in as well as their actions and thoughts. It fully fleshes out this moment for readers, giving them information they would’ve needed anyway—it was dark, the ground was three dozen feet below them, he’s rappelling down the side of a stone building, lanterns are lit, they’re both nervous and handling it differently—but works it in naturally instead saving it for one info-dump paragraph that—again—holds the story still. This becomes a full scene instead of just dialogue. 

How Not to Fix It

Don’t Rely on Boring, Simple Phrases

If you’ve noticed instances of talking heads syndrome within your manuscript, don’t go about the task of fixing it by simply adding short, basic, boring action beats that add very little value to the scene and don’t actually provide the context necessary to keep dialogue engaging.

Action beats like “he frowned,” “she grinned,” “he laughed,” etc. are fine when used occasionally. Rely on them to carry the weight of a dialogue-heavy scene and you will fail to engage readers altogether. Sure, these technically give readers a bit of info about characters’ actions and emotions, but they are completely flat in terms of fleshing out a scene. Don’t rely on them. Don’t sprinkle them in and think you’re solving the talking heads problem. Focus on providing the details that will turn dialogue into a fully immersive scene.

Don’t Give Useless Information

In the process of adding context to dialogue, it’s easy to try to fix the issue by putting down anything that removes the talking heads syndrome, whether it’s relevant to the scene or not. Don’t.

Don’t include empty, useless information just for the sake of solving talking heads syndrome. You don’t need to list everything characters do or everything that happens around them. If characters are talking in a park, readers don’t need to know every time a bird lands nearby—unless it adds value to the scene, of course. Are the birds acting unusually? Is the character mentally checked out from the conversation and zoning out while paying attention to the birds? Such details can add depth and value to the scene if they have a reason to be there. If not, leave them out.

Only include details that are relevant to the scene. Use this opportunity to showcase what’s meaningful in the moment—characters’ emotional states, what they choose to focus on in a given moment, their inner monologues, anything in their environment that warrants mention. Let characters take action that not only gives depth to the scene, but moves it forward. Focus on fleshing out dialogue with meaningful context, not empty words.

In Conclusion

Talking heads syndrome boils down to dialogue isolated from the scene. It holds the story still and untethers characters from the scene. Readers expect more and will be far from immersed in your story if you fail to give it to them. Don’t let your dialogue be ruined by neglecting to provide the details that will bring your scene to life.

Working with a professional is a great way to ensure your novel is free of talking heads syndrome. Interested?

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Show, don’t tell is a cardinal rule for writers, one of the (if not the) most popular pieces of advice writers come across. And it’s easy to understand why—showing is key to creating immersive, compelling stories that suck readers in.

As an editor, flagging portions of writing for telling instead of showing is a common occurrence. There’s no question that following this “rule” of writing is important, but how to actually do so isn’t as clear cut. What do showing and telling even mean? And how do we identify where we’ve gone wrong in our own writing?

What’s the Difference? 

Showing, not telling, is the difference between evocative, detailed, immersive writing that brings readers directly into the story and bland, lifeless writing that only gives readers the necessary basic information and goes no further.

Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.

-Anton Chekhov

Showing invites readers into a scene and allows them to experience it alongside characters. Setting, dialogue, characterization, body language, emotions, interior monologues, action, and description are all utilized to craft captivating scenes that earn an emotional response from readers and keep them engaged. 

Telling refers to when writers use exposition and summarize events and emotions, stating what happened or was felt but going no further. It’s blunt explanation.

Telling: The house had burned down. Looking at the pile of charred ruins, Addie wanted to cry but didn’t want anyone to see her getting so emotional.

Showing: Flecks of ash still floated around, the scent of scorched wood thick in the air. Addie’s throat and nostrils burned, her eyes watering as she stared at the place where the house used to stand. She coughed, wiping hastily at her eyes, hoping anyone who saw would think it was just the smoke making them stream.

Both of these examples tell readers that a house burned down and that Addie is upset about it, but one places readers in the moment alongside Addie and allows them to experience the ways Addie experiences the environment and her own emotions. The other example is bland and lacks the details that pull readers into the scene, keeping them at a distance and only sharing the basic information that defines the scene.

Think of it like this—telling is like reading the screenplay instead of watching the movie. 

You read the cues, you are told what happens, the story still unfolds…but nothing comes to life on the page like it will on the screen. You don’t feel like you’re in the story with the characters; it’s just words on a page giving you the cues and dialogue. 

What Showing Is Not

Showing is about detail, but it’s important to remember that showing does not equal over describing every element of a scene. It’s about delving deeper than surface-level words and bland statements allow and painting a picture for readers, giving them the information that will allow them to understand and draw the conclusions you want them to about characters and events. 

Do not dedicate whole paragraphs to describing the exact wood a table is carved from, the craftsman who made it, and the painstaking efforts he went through to get it just right if that information is not relevant to the scene. Do not describe how every piece of clothing feels on a character’s skin when she’s getting dressed. Keep the details you share relevant, and focus on what will bring the scene to life and help readers get to know characters better.

Don’t confuse swapping sentences like “She started to cry” for “She started to weep” and think that’s showing. Sure, “weep” is an impactful word and can be a good choice if it suits a scene, but it is still telling. Showing is not about swapping words for “better,” “stronger” words and calling it a day. While using more impactful words is an element of showing, it’s not all it is.

How Showing and Telling Impact Your Storytelling

Good books pull readers in, inspiring emotional reactions from them. When you pick up a thriller, you want to be thrilled. You want to feel the full impact of the mystery, the horror at the crimes, the creeping sense of unease and anticipation as the climax builds. When you pick up a romance novel, you want to fall in love with the love interest along with the main character, feel betrayed and devastated when he took a suspicious phone call with his ex, and feel relieved and silly when it’s revealed the call wasn’t with his ex but a jewelry store where he’d been ring shopping…gasp!

No matter the genre, readers want to read a story that they’re emotionally invested in with characters and events that feel real and believable. They want to be so immersed that your characters’ emotions could be their own. They want to be so wrapped up in the plot that they have an emotional stake in the events as they unfold. Not only do they want it, they expect it.

But you need to earn those reactions from readers. You need to earn their undivided attention, their emotional reactions, their interest in your story. Exclusively telling, not showing, will never accomplish that.

Telling means you’re stating things outright, giving readers conclusions instead of letting them come to them on their own. It cuts all depth, emotion, and nuance from your storytelling. It makes emotions basic and shallow, understood but unfelt by readers. Events unfold, but in the driest way imaginable.

Telling puts a barrier between readers and the story. By not delving into the elements of a story and aiming to have readers experience everything with the characters, you put distance between them, making the story something readers can never be fully immersed in. You put a limit on the readers’ capacity for enjoyment.

You’re boring your reader.

Showing creates an immersive, sensory reading experience. Not only does it make for better prose, but it adds depth to the story and characters. There’s nuance within the narrative, the characters, and the prose itself. Character personalities are revealed through showing, allowing readers to feel as if they truly know the character in a way that developed naturally and without you giving them a bland list of traits and characteristics that mean nothing when not actually shown. Showing lets readers get completely wrapped up in the plot. When you effectively show, readers care.

Telling readers a character wants to cry or blandly stating their emotions doesn’t actually give readers much to go on. Showing, however, can reveal more about character emotions, motivations, and all the things that remain unsaid.

Saying someone is mean doesn’t tell readers as much as you might think. What does that character’s version of mean entail? Why does Character A think Character B is mean? 

Telling: Johnny walked into the classroom looking smug. He was mean and nothing but a bully. Lily didn’t like him very much and just wished Mrs. Molten would come back. He made her nervous to be around. 

Showing: Lily stared down at her paper the second Johnny walked into the classroom. Maybe if she didn’t look at him he would leave her alone today. Her heart thudded as his footsteps got closer and his sneakers appeared next to her desk. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. Her stomach clenched as his steps stilled and he slapped a dirty hand over her paper, crumpling it up at the center. She knew if she looked up he’d be staring at her with his cruel smile, ready to make a fool out of her in front of the class again. Why couldn’t Mrs. Molten hurry back?

Now readers can come to the conclusion that Johnny is mean without the writer ever using the word and they get to experience Lily being nervous and feeling sick at having to deal with Johnny. From this one scene, readers understand that this is an ongoing problem for Lily and that Johnny is a bully—but it’s never stated outright. It’s demonstrated through his actions, Lily’s emotional reactions, and the physical manifestations of her emotions. 

This approach to writing and storytelling is imperative. Not only will telling bore readers, it will mark you as amateurish. 

Red Flags You’re Telling, Not Showing

Stating Conclusions

Stating conclusions is how most of telling can be summed up. You give readers the conclusion you want them to come to instead of giving them the pieces that describe those conclusions—emotions, setting descriptions, action, whatever it may be—indirectly and allow them to put two and two together for themselves.

“He was angry.”

“The sky was blue.” 

“I can’t stand Jim. I wish I didn’t have to work with him.” 

These statements are boring and flat. They don’t paint any picture in the readers mind or allow them to get to know characters in a meaningful way.

Basic Emotion Words

Emotion and reaction words like “surprised” or “sad” or “angry” tell readers how characters feel but do nothing to actually show readers the character feeling that way. They tell us the emotion, but not the way it feels or how it manifests in this character. Emotions look different in every person. Don’t rob your readers of the chance to get to know and understand your character by blandly telling them someone is sad. 

Avoid using these words and instead demonstrate the emotion to readers through action, dialogue, etc. 

Telling: Tommy was angry. He said, “This conversation is over.  You should’ve never opened your mouth about where the money came from,” as he got up and left.

Showing: Tommy pressed his lips in a thin line, eyes narrowing as they landed on Lisa. He stood and pushed his chair in, shoulders stiff as he straightened his tie and surveyed the restaurant for any eyes straying their way. “This conversation is over,” he said through his teeth. Bending close to her, he pointed a shaky but firm finger in her face. “You should’ve never opened your mouth about where the money came from.”

Shoving back from the table, Tommy slammed his hand on its surface, rattling the glasses of wine and catching the attention of nearby tables.  “This conversation is over,” he yelled. “You should’ve never opened your mouth about where the money came from,” he added, storming toward the door and slamming it on his way out. 

Notice how the two showing examples exemplify a very different Tommy. His anger looks completely different—one quiet and more controlled, one explosive and loud. This completely changes how readers will understand and think of Tommy, as well as the other characters around him. How emotions are expressed is a crucial element of creating characters readers understand and know. Telling readers someone was angry gives no glimpse into who they are. Don’t explain the emotion, show it!

In [Emotion Word] 

Similarly, using the word “in” followed by an emotion word is an indicator of telling: “He screamed in fear” or “She sighed in relief.” The “in [emotion]” is unnecessary. The action of screaming or sighing or whatever it may be should be enough, in the context, for readers to understand the meaning behind it. If it’s not, rewrite.

Summarizing

Summing up events is telling readers what happened in brief terms: “The man broke the vase, and Maya tried to fix it.” This is bland and hard to picture. How did he break it? How did he react when he broke it? Did he gasp? Was he angry? How did she fix it? What was her reaction? Was she irritated? 

You see how many questions bland summarizing can raise. It lacks detail and robs the reader of the chance to actually see the scene unfold, skimming over events.

Filter words

Filter words like “realized,” “felt,” and “saw” describe a character thinking or perceiving something. They tell readers what’s happening instead of letting them experience it firsthand alongside the character.

He felt the wind pick up and watched leaves scatter. vs. The wind picked up, sending leaves scattering across the empty road.

Adverbs

I’m not someone who thinks adverbs have absolutely no place in writing. Used sparingly, adverbs can have the desired impact and work just fine. Used too often, they’re a sign of weak writing and telling. 

Adverbs modify verbs, adjectives, or another adverb and tell readers how someone did something instead of showing us the manner in which they did it and allowing us to infer what we should know about the character/scene for ourselves. 

In many cases, you can remove the need for an adverb by being more specific and impactful with your word choice for the word the adverb is modifying. 

Lily ran quickly toward the soccer ball. vs. Lily streaked toward the soccer ball.

Adverbs can also be a sign of telling. You should be able to write sentences that convey the emotion you’re aiming for without using adverbs to explain that emotion or tone behind a sentence or action. 

Telling: “What did you do to my truck?” he asked angrily.

Showing: The man threw his hands in the air as he yelled, “What did you do to my truck?”

The second example demonstrates to readers clearly that this man is angry without ever having to use the word or adverb.

Some Tips for Showing 

First, avoid the aforementioned red flags.

Use Characters’ Senses

What do the characters see, smell, taste, hear, feel? Use those details to bring the scene to life, but remember to not filter those details through phrases like “she heard” or “he felt,” etc. 

Get Specific 

Using specific details doesn’t leave much room for telling. Flush out the scene with the details you want readers to be aware of. 

Body Language and Dialogue

Readers don’t want to be told your characters traits, they want to be shown them. Character actions, reactions, and dialogue are what will make your characters feel real to readers. These are what will reveal their personalities more than any simple, shallow description of them ever could.

Body language speaks volumes in real life. We don’t stand still and talk to each other—or do anything, really—with blank faces and our arms stiff at our sides. Don’t write your characters like that. Our facial expressions are especially crucial in illustrating our thoughts and reactions and give the people around us social cues. Use these to your advantage in your manuscript.

Show how characters feel to create an emotionally compelling story. 

Sometimes Telling Is Appropriate

The point of “show, don’t tell” that is sometimes left unmentioned is that telling isn’t always a problem. Too much telling is the issue.

Let’s be honest, a lot of really over-the-top, terrible writing comes from writers refusing to state something simply and instead dousing the reader with adjectives and clichés and ridiculous descriptions in an effort to never have a straightforward “telling” sentence.

A whole novel is never going to be comprised of solely showing.  A good writer knows how to balance showing and telling. Showing is what is necessary to craft an immersive, captivating reading experience, but in some cases telling can be the best choice.

Sometimes it’s okay to summarize or gloss over certain moments including:

• Time jumps when nothing of importance or value happens (days or weeks pass, seasons change, etc.)
• Traveling scenes
• Events that aren’t important to show fully 
• Relatively unimportant secondary characters
• Scene transitions
• Backstory

“Show, don’t tell” is an easy bit of writing advice to throw around, but, as with all pieces of seemingly straightforward writing tips, there’s more to it than a catchy phrase. Showing is incredibly important to writing great fiction. It’s what will create all emotional reaction in your reader; it’s what will keep them engaged. Too much of it, though, is a bad thing. 

While you want to mostly show and use telling sparingly, there is absolutely space for telling in fiction. It’s an important piece of the writing puzzle too but, like all things, needs to be properly balanced. 

Want help finding where you rely too much on telling or where your showing goes a little too far into description?

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Purple prose has earned its place on nearly every list of things writers need to avoid and for good reason. But the advice to avoid writing purple prose doesn’t mean much for writers who haven’t quite grasped its meaning yet. So we ask: what is purple prose? How do we identify if our writing has crossed the line between descriptive and purple? And how do we fix it?

What It Is

The phrase “purple prose” was first used by the Roman poet Horace in his poem Ars Poetica where he referred to flowery language with the Latin phrase “professis purpureus” which translates to purple patches, purple cloth, or purple prose. In Ancient Rome, purple was associated with wealth and royalty—the color represented extravagance and lavishness. Applied to writing, it means writing that carries those same qualities—excess, ornate, extravagant language—but it is not complimentary. 

Purple prose is writing that is too ornate, flowery, and wordy, trying too hard to be rich in language and description but tipping the scales to the point of overdoing it. It’s characterized by use of too many adjectives, adverbs, metaphors, clichés, excessive emotion, long sentences, words that try too hard to sound “smart” or “fancy,” and being too poetic. Purple prose often comes in patches throughout the story.

Readers do not like purple prose. It’s going to strike them as frustrating and amateurish or like an attempt to sound smart and important, a real “writery” writer. It makes reading difficult, frustrating, and just plain unenjoyable. It most cases, purple prose has no place in novels that hope to keep readers engaged and entertained (exceptions made, of course, for satirical purple prose which serves its own purpose.)

An important note about purple prose: not all elaborate, lyrical, or complex language is purple prose. Writing is allowed to be—should be—emotionally expressive, beautiful, and detailed. It’s allowed to be creative and full of evocative language. You do not have to conform to Hemingway-esque minimalism in order to be a good writer. Language can be lush and descriptive without going overboard into distracting purple prose, and that’s the key to great, immersive writing.

There are examples of flowery, ornate language that enhance scenes, that make prose sing off the page and make the novel what it is. That is not purple prose. 

Purple prose specifically refers to flowery, over-the-top writing that does not add value to the story’s style or to the story itself. It redirects the focus to itself instead of the story unfolding and detracts from the reading experience. 

Why Purple Prose Happens

Purple prose is often the result of authors trying too hard. Whether they’re trying too hard to sound smart or sophisticated or trying to imitate their favorite author’s style and voice, it can easily result in the type of language that is undeniably purple. Instead of focusing on developing their own voice and telling a story in the way that feels most natural, some writers try to make their story fit into a mold defined by other writers’ styles or by what they think readers are looking for. Or sometimes, in the course of trying to develop their own style and voice, some authors go overboard with description, hoping to impress readers with their grasp of the language and their ability to conjure a hyper-detailed image with lots of adjectives. Or in trying to sound intelligent and “literary,” they pull out a thesaurus and craft unnecessarily long, overly complex sentences that are impossible to follow.

Examples of Purple Prose

There are many examples of purple prose throughout published literature. Here are some I’ve found after just a few quick searches:

Delina Delaney by Amanda McKittrick Ros

“She tried hard to keep herself a stranger to her poor old father’s slight income by the use of the finest production of steel, whose blunt edge eyed the reely covering with marked greed, and offered its sharp dart to faultless fabrics of flaxen fineness.”

(Translation: Delina took up work as a seamstress so she wouldn’t be relying on her father for money.)

Jerome K. Jerome from Three Men in a Boat

“The river—with the sunlight flashing from its dancing wavelets, gilding gold the grey-green beech-trunks, glinting through the dark, cool wood paths, chasing shadows o’er the shallows, flinging diamonds from the mill-wheels, throwing kisses to the lilies, wantoning with the weirs’ white waters, silvering moss-grown walls and bridges, brightening every tiny townlet, making sweet each lane and meadow, lying tangled in the rushes, peeping, laughing, from each inlet, gleaming gay on many a far sail, making soft the air with glory—is a golden fairy stream.”

The Eye of Argon by Jim Theis

“The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust racked climes of the baren land which dominates large portions of the Norgolian empire. Age worn hoof prints smothered by the sifting sands of time shone dully against the dust splattered crust of earth. The tireless sun cast its parching rays of incandescense from overhead, half way through its daily revolution. Small rodents scampered about, occupying themselves in the daily accomplishments of their dismal lives. Dust sprayed over three heaving mounts in blinding clouds, while they bore the burdonsome cargoes of their struggling overseers.”

Bob Honey Who Just Do Stuff by Sean Penn

“There is pride to be had where the prejudicial is practiced with precision in the trenchant triage of tactile terminations. This came to him via the crucible-forged fact that all humans are themselves animal, and that rifle-ready human hunters of alternately-species prey should best beware the raging ricochet that soon will come their way.”

Note: Penn’s novel is meant to be satirical, but this sentence is just impenetrable. It’s the perfect example of purple prose that’s not necessarily overwrought in flowery description, but is made overly complex and unnecessarily difficult to understand.

Purple Prose from the Reader’s Perspective

Purple prose is unenjoyable. Simply put, readers do not want to read it.

Purple prose slows down the story in every meaning of the word. Purple patches distract from the plot by spending too much time on needlessly ornate or wordy descriptions, which slows down the reader and can undercut their interest in the overall plot. Long, winding sentences of pure description can bore readers and, depending on how flowery the word choice is, even make the reader take the story less seriously, being so melodramatic. Overly complex sentences will frustrate readers.

The reader’s focus shifts from the scene unfolding before them to the prose itself because the author directs their focus away from what matters with purple prose. It’s counterproductive to the story. No matter how impressive or poetic an author may hope their writing is, there is no point in detracting from the overall story itself to do so. It only works against the novel overall.

Avoiding Purple Prose

Purple prose generally stands out as very obvious when we’re reading someone else’s work, but identifying it within our own writing can be more difficult. We’re so close to the story, to the writing, that we might not be able to see the forest for the trees.

Purple prose red flags:

• Lots of adverbs
• Lots of adjectives
• Lots of metaphors
• Clichés
• Long, winding sentences
• Excessive emotion
• Gushy descriptions that feel melodramatic
• Complex sentences that don’t add anything in terms of real value to a scene
• Any lack of clarity

Remember that purple prose is often the result of trying to sound a certain way or like someone else. Focus on finding your voice and your style and work through the desire to sound like one of your favorites. (Sometimes the only way to work through this, which we might not realize we’re doing at the time, is to just write, write, write. Reviewing your own work will reveal the places where your writing doesn’t sound genuine. Focus on writing naturally, not trying to shove your ideas into a mold. This can take some practice.)

Purple prose happens when authors go too far with language and description. And that, of course, is subjective. Some people are Hemingway purists: a writer’s job is to tell the truth and simple, direct language is the only way to do so. These writers may always find fault with more elaborate, lyrical, complex writing, but it does not mean that sort of writing is always bad.

That type of writing is bad when it becomes excessive, when it sacrifices clarity for the sake of complexity that adds nothing to the reading experience.

While it always comes down to stylistic intention and choice, description needs to be balanced within the narrative. Readers don’t want to read excess amounts of description, nor do they want to read excessive types of description. We want to show, not tell, but we also want to avoid dumping a load of adjectives or adverbs or metaphors on readers in the process of showing. When writing description, focus on atmosphere and mood and substance. When describing a scene, does your word choice enhance or detract from the mood and atmosphere? Does it distract from the action and point of the scene by being overwrought? Keep descriptions in line with the overall mood/tone/atmosphere of a scene while also keeping the focus on the story unfolding, not the prose itself. While particularly lyrical or beautiful writing can stand out to readers positively, it happens naturally. They read and think, “Oh, I love how that’s phrased.” It’s subtle. It doesn’t involve bringing readers’ attention to the prose itself and away from the story; it just strikes a chord in some readers, enhancing the reading experience and the story itself.

Every author’s goal should be to write prose that is effective and engaging. Keep language clear, consistent, and tight. Simple word choices are often best. Vary your sentence length. Don’t spend too much time describing any one thing. Avoid excessive emotion that no longer feels genuine or realistic. Big, dramatic emotions are often best shown through small actions like a character pressing their hand to their chest, unable to catch their breath instead of making them sob or wail uncontrollably. Remember, simple doesn’t mean flat. It can be evocative without being too flowery. It can conjure an image without relying too heavily on metaphor and borderline silly descriptions. Be precise in your word choice and the things you choose to bring to reader attention. Not every detail within a scene needs to be listed and described in great detail. Give readers what’s necessary and let their imagination fill in the blanks.

There is a balance that can be struck between beautiful, evocative, detailed descriptions and the stripped bare language of minimalists that strike some readers as stark, stiff, and flat—you need to find what version of this balance works for you and represents your voice and style authentically on the page.

While drafting your novel, don’t worry too much about whether your prose is purple or not. Let the words and your creativity flow freely, then edit, edit, edit.

Related: Creating Atmosphere Effectively

Fixing Purple Prose

Read through your manuscript carefully. If you come across areas that snag your attention and make you wonder if your prose crosses the line into purple, ask yourself these questions:

Does it slow down the story and distract from the larger scene unfolding? 

Does this type of language enhance the scene or feel overwhelming and excessive?

Will this frustrate readers?

What elements of this description are absolutely necessary to the scene?

If you struggle to determine if your prose is purple, bring in some backup. Ask friends or beta readers or fellow writers to take a look and give you honest feedback. While it can be difficult to see the flaws in our own writing clearly, purple prose is generally quite obvious to other readers. Another pair of eyes should be able to help you identify it.

If you’ve identified purple prose in your writing, it’s time to simplify.

Think back to the tips for avoiding it while writing and apply those to the purple patches throughout your novel. Cut back metaphor and adjective use, cut clichés that don’t serve the story. Pare back descriptions to give readers what is necessary in terms of detail for the scene to be immersive and let them fill in the rest.

Remember to focus on substance. Keep the story moving.

In Conclusion

Though many examples are so strikingly bad as to feel objective, purple prose is subjective. Not every example of purple prose is bad to every reader. Many classic authors—including Virginia Woolf, Shakespeare, and even minimalist Hemingway himself—have been accused of purple prose. Does that mean Woolf’s stream-of-consciousness, immersive style is objectively bad and should be dismissed for including more flowery language? Should we all stop enjoying Shakespeare? Of course not!

Purple patches can be found throughout the works of many successful/classic novelists who we otherwise uphold as standards of excellence or examples of perfect form/prose/etc. In fact, it’s quite common, especially in older writing. That said, writers should absolutely avoid purple prose within their own work in order for their novels to be the best they can be.

Write strong, immersive, engaging, tight prose that lets your story take center stage. If you tend toward overwriting or flowery phrasing, this may take some practice, but it will be worth the effort.

Don’t be afraid to get another pair of eyes on your writing as soon as possible to help identify purple prose. Purple prose stands out so much for most readers that it will surely stand out even to friends who don’t write or have an eye for these types of things.

As always, nothing beats a professional’s eye on your work to help you identify areas where your writing can strengthened and improved.

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When it comes to writing realistic and impactful dialogue, writers know all about old tips like said is dead for dialogue tags, but do you know how important action beats are to enriching dialogue and keeping scenes moving? Are you incorporating them enough in your manuscript?

What They Are

Dialogue tags are words like said, asked, yelled, whispered—basically any word that could take the place of said.

(This is the obligatory reminder that said really is not dead. While it’s great to sprinkle in other dialogue tags, there is no need to avoid said. Said fades into the background for readers, but use of too many different dialogue tags sticks out like a sore thumb to readers and feels very awkward.)

Action beats are sentences that come before, during, or after the dialogue that identify the speaker without using tags and describe the character’s actions. 

“I’m starving,” Kit said. “Can we just hurry up so I can eat?” (Dialogue tag)

“I’m starving.” Kit rolled her eyes. “Can we just hurry up so I can eat?” (Action beat)

Action beats can be as simple as two word phrases describing an action.

She gasped. “Have you known this whole time?”

“I’ve been studying all day.” Liam sighed. “I need a break.”

The same words/phrases can operate as dialogue tags or action beats depending on how you use them.

“I’m starving,” Kit groaned. (Dialogue tag)

Kit groaned. “I’m starving.” (Action beat)

Action beats, like dialogue tags, can come before or after dialogue and can interrupt the dialogue.

Riley shifted in her seat. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to do that.”

“I don’t know.” Riley shifted in her seat. “I’m not sure I want to do that.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I wanted to do that.” Riley shifted in her seat.

Action beats and dialogue tags can be combined.

“I don’t know,” Riley said, shifting in her seat. “I’m not sure I want to do that.”

“I can’t do this,” he said while shaking his head. “This is too dangerous.”

“I missed you, Mom,” I whispered, squeezing her hand. “I wish we didn’t waste so much time.”

How They Impact Writing

Incorporating action beats is crucial to writing impactful scenes with believable dialogue that doesn’t hold the story still while characters talk. Though it might seem like a way to simply add some variety within the structure of dialogue, action beats actually do a lot of heavy lifting within a scene.

Mood and Tone Indicators

We can’t rely on dialogue alone to convey the emotions we want our characters to portray. Real people don’t always say exactly what they mean or how they’re feeling. And even when they do, the words alone don’t tell us everything we need to know; it’s their tone, expression, and actions that give us a complete understanding. In order for dialogue to be realistic, it needs to do the same thing.

“Sorry, but there’s nothing we can do for your dog,” he said.

“Sorry, but there’s nothing we can do for your dog.” He shrugged.

“Sorry, but there’s nothing we can do for your dog.” He hung his head. 

The first example is neutral; we really don’t have a sense of the emotion behind it. The second example conveys a sense of uncaring indifference. The third one conveys a sense of sadness or regret. See how impactful action beats can be in defining a moment’s emotional tone?

What’s Left Unsaid

Action beats can be used to say what characters aren’t saying. 

“I’m happy to be here.” She glanced at her wristwatch and suppressed a sigh.

Her words may sound kind and mean one thing, but the character’s real unspoken impatience is made clear through the action beat. Readers now understand that she doesn’t want to be there or has somewhere else she needs to be but feels like she can’t say that.

These action beats can also reveal what a character cannot say, something that reveals important information to the reader.

“You’re perfectly safe.” I kept my eyes on his, careful to not let them flick to where Ryan crept up behind him, knife in hand. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

No Talking Heads

Have you ever heard the phrase talking heads syndrome?

It refers to when a dialogue-heavy scene fails to keep a reader grounded within the scene and ends up reading like talking heads in white space (or anywhere, really). There’s no sense of a physical world, the environment around the speakers or even the speakers’ bodies themselves. 

Action beats allow readers to feel like they’re grounded within a scene along with the characters.

He said, “I’m tired of having this conversation with you.”

He swiped a hand across his brow, staring out the window to their backyard at the swing set the kids hadn’t touched in years. “I’m tired of having this conversation with you.”

“Do you want to watch a movie?” she asked. “There’s that new romcom you wanted to see.”

“Do you want to watch a movie?” She flopped onto the pillow-covered couch and smiled. “There’s that new romcom you wanted to see.”

“I don’t really know what to say,” Mark said.

“I don’t really know what to say.” Mark glanced away, watching the water rush over his toes as another wave met the beach. 

The action beats place the characters and readers firmly within the environment and give movement to the scene while also conveying emotional cues. It creates a fuller picture for readers and allows them to be fully immersed.

Back to the Basics

Some of the other jobs of action beats may seem simple enough to almost go unnoticed, but they are just as important as the heavy-lifting jobs of conveying emotion, providing environmental details, and saying what’s left unsaid. 

Action beats also add movement to dialogue and break up long portions of dialogue that may be unpleasant to read. They keep readers engaged and help pace conversations, providing the pauses and space that comes naturally within real-life conversations. They add depth to conversations and make characters and scenes more realistic and pleasant to read. 

The key is to keep a good balance between dialogue tags and action beats. Don’t rely too much on either. Find space for simple dialogue tags and action beats that bring the scene to life with those small details that keep readers immersed and engaged. 

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