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Talking Heads Syndrome | What You Need to Know

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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What It Means to Show, Not Tell

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: What You Need to Know

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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Action Beats | What They Are & Why You Need Them

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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Setting Writing Goals You Can Reach in 2023

With the holiday season coming to a close and the New Year right around the corner, the time for reevaluating goals and establishing routines that will help us reach them is fast approaching. January offers an opportunity to start fresh and set writing goals for the year ahead. But how do we set goals we can actually reach?


A quick note: Each new year brings a sort of pressure to set new goals, get into a routine, and somehow be good and perfect in every way just because it’s a new year. While January does offer a great time to evaluate goals and routines, there really is no need to set resolutions that you hold yourself to at the expense of your stress levels and happiness. Author Leigh Bardugo has been sharing this alternative to resolutions online for years and I’d like to share it with you now: BAYMTGO—begin as you mean to go on. Don’t set impossible, shiny resolutions that make you feel guilty when things don’t go perfectly and you can’t reach them. Don’t buy into the idea that you have to reinvent yourself every January. Instead, BAYMTGO encourages making time for the things you care about and taking the small steps that bring you closer to them throughout the year. Leigh encourages everyone to spend time—even fifteen minutes—on January 1st doing something you care about, beginning the year as you mean to go on. Whether that be writing or not, a mindset that focuses on small steps instead of big plans is what’s important. It’s that mindset I’ve kept in mind while breaking down how to best set writing goals.


I originally wrote this post for House of Cadmus.

Staring down the process of writing a novel can be daunting for even the most experienced of writers and downright paralyzing for newer writers. It requires discipline, perseverance, and focus, yet you also have to somehow maintain and balance these with the passion and free-flowing creativity that fuels your ideas and the writing process. If you want to finish your novel, whether for yourself or for publication, you need to be able to balance the rigidity of a writing schedule with the excitement for your story that made you write it in the first place.

The key to this balancing act is setting writing goals you can actually reach. Not big-picture “I want to be published” goals, but manageable daily goals that will break your novel writing into bite-sized pieces and help bolster you along your writing path. Setting goals gives you the short-term motivation to reach your long-term goals and clarifies exactly how you’ll reach those long-term goals without reaching the burnout point that can leave so many writers floundering, unsure of how to tackle what needs to be done.

Scientifically proven to increase productivity, reaching the goals you’ve set is also proven to increase motivation; the more you see yourself accomplishing your goals, the more motivated you’ll be to keep going. Setting challenging but manageable goals is the first step in a cycle that will keep you making progress, but what should you consider when setting your goals?

Be Realistic

If writers could take one thing away from this article, it would be this so-obvious-it-seems-pointless-to-mention piece of advice: be realistic. 

Writing goals are set to help you make your way through the vast, difficult, seemingly untamable landscape of writing. And while it’s exciting to imagine the end product of our efforts, it can also be easy to lose our sense of reality in those big dreams and set ourselves up for failure. Learning to hold on to that excitement while still distancing yourself enough to be realistic when creating goals is difficult, but you must do it.

Being realistic, in part, means tossing aside the idea that another writer’s formula, goals, or schedule will work for you. It won’t. Don’t use goals to punish yourself for not being as fast or organized or productive as other writers. There may be elements of other writers’ schedules that help you establish your own, but resigning yourself to matching someone else’s daily goals will only bring you stress and, ultimately, failure.

Good goals should challenge us, but setting goals we know we probably will not be able to reach only causes us to push ourselves too far, driving ourselves to high levels of stress and pressure that contaminate and stall the writing process. It begins a cycle of failure that will land blow after blow to your motivation, confidence, and, ultimately, your mental health. 

The single most important thing to remember when setting your goals is to base them off of your own life, your own WIP, and your own limits only. Don’t waste time worrying that your daily or monthly goals aren’t big enough or difficult enough. Disregard the writing goals, advice, and accomplishments of every other writer the moment you recognize yourself using them as things to measure your own “failures” up against. As the saying goes, comparison is the thief of joy. Comparison can also be the thief of progress.

Don’t set big goals you can’t realistically meet. Set small goals and reach them over and over.

Get Specific 

There’s no place for vagueness in setting goals. “I want to be a better writer” doesn’t cut it when you’re staring at a blank screen, wondering where to go next. Measurable, bite-sized goals provide the pathway for you to reach your project goal.

Type

The type of goals you want to reach can be broken down into two categories: time-based goals and progress-based goals. 

Time-based goals are measured by how much time you aim to dedicate to writing each day while progress-based goals are measured by the actual progress made within your writing—by word count, by page, by scene, etc. 

Form your goals by considering what is most important to you, what works best with your existing schedule, and what is most realistic for you. Is it more realistic for you and impactful for your WIP to write freely for two hours a day, regardless of word count? Or does nailing down a word count goal of 1,500 words per day make more sense for your overall goals? 

Progress-based goals could be more beneficial to writers looking to meet a deadline or ensure they’re making a certain amount of progress within their WIP. If tracking your word count only stresses you out, track by time. Find what works best for you—don’t be afraid to try both progress and time-based goals before you settle with either one.

Think Small

When setting writing goals, specificity and scheduling are key. To reach big goals, you need to think small. Break down your project goals into manageable daily tasks that will keep you making continuous progress. 

Define your overall project goal as much as possible. Work your way backwards from those long-term, big-picture project goals to determine exactly what needs to happen for you to reach them. Outlining, plotting, the actual writing—break it all down. What can you realistically aim for in a month? Go further. What can you aim for in a week? A day? 

By word count, by chapter, by time spent writing, by whatever measurable accomplishment you choose, you must be able to identify small tasks that will become your daily goals. They are your stepping stones to your project goal.

Schedule

Research has shown that people are two to three times more likely to accomplish their goals if they plan exactly when, where, and how they’ll execute them. 

Plan and schedule exactly how you will reach your writing goals and write them down. Writing your goals out—longhand on an actual physical piece of paper—also makes you more likely to stick to them. Do it—it makes a difference and is a great, simple way to hold yourself accountable. 

Practice writing your goals in the form of “I will” statements. Go after your goals with a positive mindset—form them with positive, powerful statements declaring your intentions. You will reach your goals. Don’t allow any room for doubt in your planning.

Train your brain to associate positivity with your goals, not the stress or reluctance that can often accompany the tasks we must complete. While this is a simple method of maintaining your own outlook and accountability, it’s also a way to help preserve the creativity and enjoyment of writing by combatting the negativity before it sets in. 

Support Your Goals

Once you have your goals set and know exactly when, where, and how you’re going to accomplish them, you need to prepare to support your future efforts. Knowing exactly what you’re going to need to accomplish your goals in terms of outside influences and obstacles allows you to be as prepared as possible. 

Control Your Environment

Support yourself by preparing the environment in which you’ll be writing beforehand. Know you’ll be writing at your desk tomorrow morning? Take the few minutes to organize it tonight, putting away anything that might distract you and leaving out all the supplies you may need including notebooks, pens, your notes, etc. Remove the need to get up and search for anything once you’re writing. 

In removing any distractions, be honest with yourself as you assess your own tendencies. Do you tend to procrastinate by reading articles online? Will notifications on your phone or computer distract you? If you need to search something related to your writing, are you at risk of getting lost in something else that pops up? Consider leaving your phone in another room (or at least away from your fingertips and sightline) and possibly turning off your computer’s WiFi so browsing the internet isn’t an option. 

While these measures may be unrealistic for some, if you are able to try them, do so. Writing is so difficult in the face of constant distractions. Part of supporting yourself as you work toward your writing goals is making sure you create the environment that will maintain the bubble of focus and creativity necessary to fully immerse yourself in your work. 

Make Your Goals Known

It’s easier to let ourselves slack off or not hold ourselves to our goals when we do so quietly. 

Share your goals with family and friends. Not only will their awareness of your goals help spur you along in the moments you feel like slacking off (no one wants to fail with everyone watching), but their support is invaluable. When you feel doubt start creeping in, when you need someone to remind you of your WIP’s worthiness and your own ability to finish what you started, turn to them. 

Sometimes having family and friends who support you, while lovely, isn’t quite all that writers need. Sometimes you need the trusted voice of someone who has experienced what you’re going through right now—you need a fellow writer. If you don’t know any in your personal life, consider joining a writing group to find the support you need or try reaching out to fellow writers on social media. The online writing community is helpful, kind, and supportive. You will find people who will have your back during your writing process.


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There’s no need to pick just one or two writing friends to share your goals with if you don’t want to—sharing writing goals and updates on social media is also a great way of holding yourself accountable. If you know your fellow writers and online audience are cheering you on and waiting for your next writing update, it will encourage you all the more to get back to work.

Plan for the Inevitable 

Life gets busy, things get put on the back burner. 

Don’t let your writing become something you continually put off, expecting life will free up time for you to write eventually. 

Plan for the inevitable as much as you can. Have a backup plan already in mind for the shifts that come from out of the blue. Maybe this means when your normal writing time is off the table, you know you’ll get up earlier in the morning to reach at least half of your normal word count goal. Or maybe it means when the whole day’s schedule gets moved around unexpectedly, you’ll fit in a 20-minute writing sprint before bed.

Whatever the solution may be, try to have an idea of your fallbacks before the situations arise. You will save yourself the guilt of not having met that day’s goal and save your writing routine and momentum. 

Be Kind to Yourself

While setting goals and working hard to reach them is vitally important to making finishing a WIP manageable, your happiness and mental health need to be prioritized as well.

It’s Not the End of the World

Somedays you won’t be able to meet your goal—sometimes, regardless of schedules and plans and fallbacks, you just can’t. Writing goals are designed to help us avoid writer’s block and stagnation within our WIPs, but it will still happen sometimes. Some days you won’t be able meet your goal or even get a good word on the page. And guess what? It’s fine. You can always pick right back up where you left off. 

Feeling the full weight of the responsibility of our dreams can be a lot. It can be difficult to find the balance between holding yourself accountable to your goals and recognizing when you need a break, but it is a balance you need to be able to find. Practice recognizing the difference between feeling lazy, uninspired, or unmotivated and truly needing a break to avoid feeling too stressed or overwhelmed. 

Yes, you’re the only one who will work for your dreams to come true, you’re the only one who can write your story. But you’re also the only one who can take care of your mental health and determine when you need a break. Don’t push yourself too far and make writing something you dread.

Learn the signs of your own building frustration and give yourself a break from writing. Or give yourself a break from your WIP, but write something for your own amusement. It can be something unrelated to your WIP or even a little vignette within your WIP’s world that has no point other than to bring you joy and allow you to reconnect with your story and characters. Whether you take a break from writing or try to write something else, come back refreshed and motivated.

Celebrate Every Small Win

One of the most important parts of goal setting is celebrating your accomplishments. Don’t move on to the next goal like you didn’t just smash the last one. Don’t just keep your eyes ahead on the next thing to be accomplished. Take a breath between goals and acknowledge your success. And share your successes with others—they’re there to support and celebrate you just as much to help you keep going. Recognizing your success is necessary to keeping you excited and motivated to keeping moving forward. 

Celebrate your success anyway you like. Maybe it means some sort of reward—a special expensive coffee drink you normally don’t have after a full week of reaching your daily word count goals—or maybe it’s just taking some time for yourself, relaxing and basking in the joy of accomplishing what you aimed for. Whatever it may be, don’t let your hard work go unacknowledged.

Every goal met moves you closer and closer to finishing your WIP—it’s well worth celebrating.

 

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Creating Atmosphere Effectively

As a line editor, part of my job when combing through a manuscript is to identify places where language can be strengthened and elevated to enhance a scene. This means focusing on word choice, rhythm, sentence and paragraph structure, and more to bring your writing to life. The edits I make or suggest are often subtle, but aim to make the most out of every word on the page. 

Atmosphere is created bit by bit, with small details and a keen awareness of what every word choice brings to a scene. While editing, I look for any detail that goes against the atmosphere you’re trying to craft and seems out of place. As with every other element of your novel, how you craft atmosphere is up to you. I’m not here to tell you how a scene should feel or how you should execute that feeling, but I am here to flag the areas where the atmosphere you’re trying to create falls flat and can be improved with different language or other subtle edits.

Creating atmosphere is difficult. I wrote this article for my literary site, House of Cadmus, some time ago with the intention of peeling back the layers of mystery that seem to shroud the process of creating atmosphere by identifying the many ways writers can create atmosphere within their stories. I hope it’s useful to you, too. 


For writers, creating atmosphere can be both an exciting challenge and a source of frustration, but it is always necessary. When we hear the word “atmosphere,” many of us think of the creepy, dreadful, overtly horrific or magical, but there are countless ways to write atmosphere. Whether you’re creating a sense of coziness, mystery, suspicion, unease, anticipation, excitement, joy, or peace, all stories need to deliver some form of atmosphere for readers to truly be immersed in the story.

The word “atmosphere” calls to mind a richness of setting, but a fantastic sense of atmosphere is something that goes beyond the mere events or setting of the story. It’s something in the delivery of the words themselves that feels present in every moment and permeates the story’s very essence. 

Atmosphere is crucial.

But what exactly is atmosphere? Often used interchangeably with “tone” and “mood,” atmosphere is actually something separate, though all three elements play off of each other. 

Tone is very much an internal part of the narrative, the book’s attitude toward itself and how (the tone in which) all of its elements are presented by the author. It’s the author’s approach to the story. 

Mood and atmosphere are more closely related, with mood influenced by atmosphere, but mood belongs to the reader’s end of the experience. It’s the feelings a reader gets from a book, scene, etc. 

Atmosphere is the more general feeling or vibe of a story grounded in description of location and emotions. It’s an emotional aspect of the story—because you want an emotional reaction and acknowledgement from readers—built through technical means such as word choice, sentence structure variation and rhythm, and description.

How do you create atmosphere? 

Unsurprisingly, following the example of clichés such as, “It was a dark and stormy night” is not the way to go about this. As intimidating or difficult as creating the exact atmosphere we want to deliver to our readers may sound, there are techniques behind the magic to help us bring out the best in our writing. 

Setting, Imagery, And What to Focus On

Atmosphere is often a subtle creation. It takes more than choosing to write a scene that takes place in a cemetery at night to create a sense of dread, suspense, mystery, etc. A great setting and plot—that nighttime cemetery when a killer is on the loose, for example—has incredible potential, but it’s only the foundation. If you don’t build upon that setting in ways that reaches the readers’ emotions and wraps them up in the moment, your scene can and will fall flat. And if you’re relying on tropey, familiar, and very on-the-nose settings and events (such as the nighttime cemetery) to do all the work in conveying atmosphere for you, your scene will do more than fall flat. It will be banal, forgettable, lacking impact, and—most importantly—a missed opportunity.

Whether or not a scene’s setting is obviously conducive and evocative in respect to the atmosphere you’re aiming for doesn’t matter as much as you may think. The same atmosphere can be built for a scene that takes place in a cemetery or a kitchen; what matters is where you pull the reader’s attention and what details you make them focus on. 

Description is key to atmosphere but selective specificity is key to description. 

Listing everything you can think of in order to really fill out a scene and make the atmosphere you’re aiming for as rich as possible for readers can often have the wrong impact. It’s overkill—readers doesn’t want to read that much description. Instead, bring their attention to a handful of small details that speak volumes and let them fill in the rest of the scene in their own mind—a broken teacup, creaking branches, the warmth of the sun on a character’s face. What your character notices is important. In addition to contributing to atmosphere, what a character notices speaks to their emotional state and helps convey those emotions—the underlying, often unannounced emotions—to readers. Do they notice that the flowers are chrysanthemums or that they’re wilted? That small detail tells us something about the atmosphere, certainly, but it also gives us those important emotional cues. 

When thinking of description, be sure to tap into all five senses. Sight and sound are often the defaults, but exploring the other three senses—taste, touch, smell—through a character’s eyes creates a richer experience for readers. 

If a person awakes alone in an unfamiliar cabin after being lost in the woods, is it to the sound of a fire popping across the room, the firelight dancing on the worn wood-paneled walls, the warm weight of blankets atop them, and the smell of something sweet and fruity coming from the bubbling pot on the fire? Or do they awake to the suffocating press of blankets on them, the wool itchy against their skin as shadows lurch across the scratched, peeling wood-paneled walls, the smell of something rancid and burnt coming from the pot spitting from atop the hissing coals of the fire?

Though I’m describing the same situation—and intentionally going overboard with both—one is obviously more comforting than the other, but both create a full, rich picture for the reader. You don’t have to hit every sense in a single description—and you really shouldn’t try to—but think about hitting all of them throughout the narrative, especially in scenes you want to come alive. Immerse yourself in the scene as you see it in your head and pull out those evocative bits that create a full, well-rounded setting for readers. Imagery is crucial. Give readers the full experience.

Tip: Make playlists for your novel specific to characters or scenes to help you create an inspiring mood while you’re writing. Writing something creepy and suspenseful? Try listening to dark, dramatic classical music. Let some of the story seep out of your mind and into the real world to help you get it down on the page. 

Details of Description—Word Choice Matters

The success of your atmospheric writing is whether it lands with readers. Though tone, mood, and atmosphere have their differences, they work together and impact each other. All of them need to combine to reach the emotions of readers. You want readers to care, to be invested, to feel on edge during that especially tense scene you wrote. For that reason, word choice is imperative.

Be intentional with word choice. Skip the boring words that weigh descriptions down in favor of powerful words that bring your writing to life. By “powerful,” I mean evocative, expressive words. Get specific. Why say moss hung from the trees when you could say the Spanish moss dripped from the twisted branches overhead? It may seem like a small change, but it makes all the difference.

Don’t just think of this tip in terms of description–apply it to action words as well. Why say a character walked when they could’ve skulked, stomped, or bounded? You want to create the strongest version of the image and emotion you’re trying to convey to readers and you only have so much time to do it within a scene. Don’t waste a word. 

Writers need to think of the connotations of words as well. Take the sunlight example I used above. The words “gleam” and “glinting” tend to be interpreted with a positive connotation and, therefore, are inappropriate if you’re trying to convey irritation or other negative emotions. Look at the cabin example again, too. Notice how vastly different the descriptions of the same scene are all because I used different words. I hit on all the same points in both—the sound of the fire, the weight of the blankets, the smell and sound of food cooking in a pot, the walls, the firelight—but changed the entire atmosphere of the scene by using evocative words with appropriate connotations. I pointed out shadows instead of firelight for the more unsettling version and used words like “lurch” and “hissing” instead of “dancing” and “bubbling.” It adds up to create very different atmospheres. Keep your language in line with the emotion. 

Characters

Keep your characters in line with the emotion, too. Unless you’re trying to make a point of the stark difference between a character’s attitude and the general atmosphere, you want them to work together. As I said above, what your character notices and how they characterize it matters. It also matters how they react to it. While you know where you’re trying to take the scene and what your characters are going to do, make sure their small expressions match the atmosphere. Does a character who is thrilled about something sigh and roll their eyes? Usually, no. Think of your characters as a whole. Appearance, body language, dialogue and tone, personality. How can you use their specific characteristics to enhance the atmosphere? This goes for dialogue as well. Be sure everything you’re including within a scene matches the atmosphere you want it to have.

And again, be aware of what your characters notice. These can reflect on a character—that emotional state again—and you want it to be consistent with the overall scene and atmosphere. If a character is exhausted and irritated, are they going to notice the gleam of the sun glinting off the lake water, or are they going to think the sunlight is harsh and glaring, making their head pound? Keep it consistent. 

Subtleties 

As much as atmosphere depends on overt elements like description and word choice, there are more subtle elements that also have an effect on the reader, whether they realize it or not. 

A way to contribute to atmosphere is thinking in terms of theme or motif. Is there an element of your story that is an underlying constant throughout it, something with symbolic or conceptual meaning? Consider using analogies and descriptions that tie back to it. 

An example of this that I personally enjoyed is Once Upon a River by Diane Setterfield. The river is a constant throughout the story; it ties the characters together and represents larger themes of life and death and storytelling. Setterfield keeps the river ever present in readers’ minds and ties the prose back to it by using water-related analogies and descriptions throughout the narrative. It’s subtle, not over the top or overt, but brilliant.

Color is a great way to use this technique. Consider the color palette of your story—think it up now if you’ve never considered this before. What emotions and themes are most prevalent within your story and what colors do you associate with them? What is the location of story and how does the weather or landscape play a role in the story? What colors do you associate with that? Now use your answers—subtly, of course—throughout your narrative. Bring them to mind through analogies, descriptions, or by bringing a scene to a new location to better match that emotion.

Another subtle element within your writing to consider is rhythm. Writing should have flow and rhythm within sentence variation. When writing to convey specific emotions, don’t underestimate the importance of manipulating this rhythm to effect the reader. We all know the classic tip of writing short, punchy sentences for action scenes, but you can also lull a reader by writing longer sentences. Consider using longer, winding sentences when describing something calm or beautiful, but also as a way to mirror what could be happening within a scene. If a character is lost in the woods and growing increasingly unsure of where they are, you could use longer sentences to mirror the sense of winding back and forth that the character feels. Perhaps as the character gets closer and closer to some climactic point, you could shorten some sentences up and bring more tension to the scene. Play around with syntax and unusual word choice to create confusion or unease. Don’t be afraid to experiment.

Mirror the Themes Within Plot

A more obvious—although sometimes subtle—way to create atmosphere within a story is to take a bigger, overall theme within the story and mirror it within sections of the book. This is bigger than a sentence-level detail, and it can do wonders. If isolation or feeling alone or abandoned is an overall theme within your book, consider mirroring that with setting but also by truly isolating a character for a period of time. When doable and appropriate within your plot, boiling down overall themes to their most obvious effects and putting your characters in that situation can be very effective. I recommend doing this with more subtle themes and emotions, like the isolation/loneliness example. It doesn’t work with everything, but it’s something to consider when thinking of creating atmosphere. 

Creating atmosphere requires being mindful of several different elements of your story and prose while you’re in the moment. It can be difficult. Though I think all of these techniques are helpful and a great way to create the atmosphere we want, it’s important to not overdo any one element. Try to find a balance that works for you and your story and I’m sure these writing techniques will be useful to you. 


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Tighten Up Your Writing: Words to Cut from Your Manuscript

Good writing is a balance between effectiveness and style, engaging the reader with your unique voice while telling a gripping story that keeps them invested. Part of drafting—in trying to reach this balance—is getting absolutely everything down on the page, irrespective of any sort of perfection that may be reached in later drafts. It’s later—during revisions and editing phases—that the opportunity to refine your writing comes.

As you move through drafts, getting closer and closer to being completely satisfied with your story and your writing, you’ll become familiar with “killing your darlings,” or cutting the pieces you may love that aren’t necessary to the novel. During editing, writers also need to be on the lookout for words that aren’t necessary for understandability and don’t enhance style. These words aren’t your “darlings,” but they too need to be killed (i.e. cut). Catching and cutting these words and phrases to tighten up prose is a crucial element of the editing stage, often done by professional line editors.

There are different types of words and phrases that should be cut from your manuscript. Some are simply unnecessary, while others are more damaging to the reading experience, like filter words. Others, like glue words, can be an indicator of rambling, lesser-quality writing that has the opportunity to be tightened and improved.

Filler Words 

Filler words are words that slip into writing that aren’t necessary to the meaning of the sentence and don’t contribute to your style and voice. They’re empty words, the sort of words that we might use a lot when speaking but that don’t have a place in tight, crisp, effective prose.

A (non-exhaustive) list of filler words to cut: 

  • Just 
  • Really
  • Very 
  • That 
  • Then 
  • Seriously
  • Even
  • Seem
  • So
  • But
  • Literally
  • Suddenly
  • Until
  • Absolutely
  • Only
  • Quite
  • Rather

While not every single use of these words needs to be cut from your novel, some of these words are worse than others and should almost always be cut. 

Two such words are “very” and “really.” They’re weak words that detract from the style and impact of a sentence. You’ve read it before, but it’s worth repeating: if you catch yourself describing something as “very/really (blank),” it’s an immediate sign that you need to replace that two-word phrase with a stronger descriptor. 

Instead of:

Very/really tired > Exhausted

Very/really happy > Elated

Very/really embarrassed > Mortified

Very/really hungry > Ravenous

You get the point. Don’t use weak, empty phrases when one impactful word can do the job better. Even cutting the really or very and leaving the original adjective alone—without replacing it with a stronger one—is better than including one of these words. 


“Substitute damn every time you’re inclined to write very; your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.”

-Mark Twain


Filter Words

Have you ever read a book and noticed lots of sentences like “She watched the car drive away” or “He thought the sky looked like rain,” and thought there was something awkward about it?

That’s because there’s something awkward about it.

Sentences like these—that rely on phrases like she watched, he thought, and words like felt/realize/etc.—are filtering the narration through the characters and are, hence, called filter words/phrases. Filter words and phrases describe characters thinking or perceiving something when it’s not necessary. They weigh narration down, filling it with unnecessary words and creating distance between readers and what’s unfolding on the page. These words and phrases can also be a sign that you’re telling instead of showing—stating what a character feels instead of showing readers them actually experiencing it. More than just filling up the story with unnecessary words, filter words and phrases detract from the reading experience and make writing sound amateurish. 

Instead of simply cutting words here, these instances present opportunities to rewrite and strengthen your storytelling. 

Layla realized the sun was rising and decided she’d need to start heading home soon. 

or

Layla squinted at the orange and pinkish early morning sunlight beginning to peek over the fields. She needed to start heading home soon.

The second one is much more effective—it conjures an image, bringing the moment to life for readers. Readers don’t need to be told Layla decided to head home; we see her make the decision. 

Another example:

I wondered if the killer could be someone we knew, someone we all trusted.

Could the killer be someone we knew? Someone we trusted?

Isn’t the second version so much more direct and powerful?

Glue Words

As the words that connect the “working” words (those that carry the meaning within a sentence), glue words are an essential element of writing. However, too many glue words can make a sentence sticky, detracting from the reading experience and bogging readers down. 

Glue words include, but are not limited to: the, of, in, by, there, from, was, for, some, much, but, go, on, just.

A sticky sentence:

Just after Mary saw the sale in that week’s paper, she planned a trip to go to the store.

Revised:

Mary saw the sale in the weekly paper and planned a trip to the store. 

The point is still the same, but the second sentence gets there quicker and more directly—two key features of effective writing. 

Redundant Language

Lots of common phrases are redundant and make their way into writing. 

Two common examples are stood up and sat down. Up and down aren’t necessary to understanding the meaning of stood or sat. Cut them. 

Other redundant phrases include:

Actual facts

Advance warning

Exact same

Fall down

There are a lot of examples of redundant phrases that are used often in writing, far too many to include here. Keep a close eye out for these when editing, they can slip under your radar easily but need to be caught and cut.

One last thing…

Be mindful of your use of dialogue tags. After the first few within a conversation, they’re not always needed unless to remind readers who is speaking during a moment where it could be confusing. The need a writer may feel for dialogue tags in every line of dialogue can also drive them to reach for words other than said, creating awkward phrasing that stands out negatively.

Overusing dialogue tags—said or otherwise—creates a bad reading experience; it’s choppy and weighs the language down. It’s absolutely something readers will notice and dislike. Cut as many as you can. 

“Are you sure about this?” Miles asked. 

“Of course I’m sure,” Anthony said. “I told you I know what I’m doing.” 

Rolling his eyes, Miles said, “Sure, sure. Who am I to question the Chosen One?”

Anthony ignored the sarcasm and said, “Just do what I told you.”

Alice cleared her throat and said, “I’m still here. Does anyone care about my opinion?” 

“No,” Miles said. 

Alice scoffed. “Rude,” she said. 

With three people talking, readers need cues to tell us who is speaking more than if there were only two characters talking. That doesn’t mean we need all of those dialogue tags, though. Take a look:

“Are you sure about this?” Miles asked.

“Of course I”m sure,” Anthony said. “I told you I know what I’m doing.” 

Miles rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure. Who am I to question the Chosen One?”

Anthony ignored the sarcasm. “Just do what I told you.” 

Alice cleared her throat. “I’m still here. Does anyone care about my opinion?”

“No,” Miles said. 

Alice scoffed. “Rude.”

It’s not just about lowering the word count; cutting dialogue tags improves the flow and feels more natural. Don’t you agree?


Cutting words to tighten up prose is an unavoidable aspect of editing and preparing your manuscript for agents, publishers, and readers. It requires going through your manuscript with a fine-tooth comb, but it is necessary and so, so worth it. Your story—and your readers—will thank you. 

Quick Editing Tip: Read Your Novel Aloud

This isn’t a groundbreaking tip and you’ve likely heard it elsewhere, but there’s a good reason for that. It works. Reading aloud forces us to pay attention in a way we can’t when silently scanning over the words. If anything sounds awkward, choppy, or unclear, reading aloud with help you identify it. 

As an introduction to the type of language writers need to be aware of when editing, this article is far from exhaustive in terms of all the examples of words and phrases that can be cut. You’ll also notice that there’s some crossover in what words and phrases are considered filler words, filter words, glue words, etc. While the label for the type of word doesn’t matter so much, it’s important to learn to recognize why certain words can harm our writing and when to cut them. I encourage you to look around for more comprehensive lists of words and phrases to cut if you find yourself wanting to commit more to memory.

Arming yourself with this information can help you keep your prose crisp as you write, but don’t overthink it while drafting. Let the words flow. Even as you’re editing, prioritize your style and flow even if it means letting some of these words or phrases remain in your manuscript (but for good reason, I hope).

Trust your instincts as a writer. And get a good editor.

 

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Understanding Active and Passive Voice as a Fiction Writer

Writers hear about active voice and passive voice all the time, often in the form of a warning: do not use passive voice.

But what do these voices actually refer to? What are they? How do we identify active and passive voice and know when to use each correctly?

The Basics 

Active and passive voice are the two grammatical voices in English.

If you remember elementary school writing lessons, perhaps you remember teachers saying that passive voice is weak and bad and insisting you should always use active voice because it’s stronger and more impactful. 

With those lingering lessons in mind, perhaps the first thing to know about active and passive voice is that there is a time and place for both in writing. Neither one is inherently bad in every situation, neither one is always preferable. The trick is to learn the difference and how to use both in your writing effectively. 

That said, active voice is often more appropriate and impactful, especially in fiction. Unless you are intentionally using passive voice for specific stylistic impact, active voice is generally preferred and should be your default.

Why?

Although there are exceptions where it is the most appropriate choice, passive voice delivers the point of your sentence in a more roundabout, vague way. It can feel loaded down by unnecessary wordiness and awkward phrasing that places readers a little less firmly within the moment, whereas active voice is more concise, direct, and engaging.

It is incredibly important, especially for fiction writers, to recognize and utilize the differences between active voice and passive voice. It’s not just that active voice is more direct and concise, it also keeps readers closer to the story with gripping, immersive language. Passive voice puts some distance between unfolding story and readers, allowing them to only get so close. It can make for an unpleasant reading experience when not used sparingly to intentionally draw reader attention to a certain element. 

The Nitty Gritty

Let’s dive into a little grammar lesson discussing the mechanics of active and passive voice. Bear with me. It’s not fun, but it’s definitely necessary to understand in order to get the most impact out of your writing.

As I said above, there are two grammatical voices in English–active and passive.

Active voice refers to when the subject of the sentence performs the action. 

Passive voice flips the sentence structure, making the thing that is acted upon, AKA the person, place, or thing that receives the action, the subject. 

The object of an active sentence becomes the subject in a passive sentence while the subject of an active sentence becomes the passive agent of the passive sentence. Technically, the subject of an active voice sentence is still the agent performing the action in a passive sentence, but it is not the subject of the passive sentence. Passive agency occurs when the agent of action is not the subject of the sentence.

Active: The girl (subject) rode (verb) the bike (object). 

Passive: The bike (new subject) was ridden (verb) by the girl (passive agent). 

Notice how the girl is still the thing that is performing the action of the sentence, but not in the grammatical subject’s position within the sentence? She is still the agent of the action, but her agency is passive because the bike (the subject) is the thing being acted upon by the verb within this sentence.

Active: The woman (subject) chased (verb) the soccer ball (object). 

Passive: The soccer ball (grammatical subject) was chased (verb) by the woman (not the subject despite being the person doing the action–the passive agent). 

A sentence in passive voice requires two verbs—an auxiliary form of “to be” and the past participle form of the main verb (that would exist within the active sentence, too).

Grammar basics reminder: An auxiliary verb is a verb used in forming the tenses, moods, and voices of other verbs. Auxiliary forms of “to be” include “is,” “are,” “was,” “were,” “being,” “been,” “will be.” In passive voice, the auxiliary verb comes before the past participle verb (which are past tense verbs that often end in -ed).

Active voice: The entire soccer team was looking forward to the tournament. 

Passive voice: The tournament was (auxiliary form of “to be”) eagerly anticipated (past participle of “anticipate”) by the entire soccer team.

There are two forms of passive voice—long and short.

Short passive is when the subject or performer of the action is unknown. The sentence is agent-less.

Example: The jewelry store was robbed last night.

Long passive is when the subject is known and becomes the passive agent of the sentence. 

Example: The jewelry store was robbed by a group of local teens.

Where You’ll Find Passive Voice

Passive voice redirects the focus of a sentence to the action’s target or the action itself instead of the performer of the action. It’s often used in formal writing, like scientific and academic writing, when those writing want to create a more objective or unbiased tone or put the focus on the action, not the doer.

Passive: The medication was approved for clinical trials. OR The medication was approved for clinical trials by the FDA.

Active: The FDA approved the medication for clinical trials.

Passive: Extensive research was conducted by scientists.

Active: Scientists conducted extensive research.

You’ll also recognize passive voice in news reports, where short passive is often used to report information without mention of who did the action:

A house was set on fire in a local neighborhood last night.

The car was stolen from a convenience store parking lot.

Passive Voice in Fiction

There is absolutely a place for passive in professional, formal writing and fiction. It’s all about using passive voice strategically, to draw reader attention to a certain element or to maintain a specific tone. The problem with passive voice in fiction is that, if it is not very intentionally done, executed well, and used sparingly, it makes for a rough reading experience. It slows down the story’s pace, bogging it down with vague and wordy language. 

In fiction, it’s important to remember that simpler, more direct writing is often better writing. The difference between active and passive voice greatly affects the tone of the writing and, while some writers may think the more detached, distant tone that passive writing brings a certain “writery” flare to their writing, it doesn’t. Too much passive voice feels flat and laborious to read. Find your unique style, but learn how to use elements like active and passive voice to enhance your writing. Generally, this will be active voice with sprinkles of passive voice to create the exact impact you’re aiming for.

Let’s look at a fiction example with the possibility for a bit more excitement:

Active voice: Wren launched himself over the short stone wall and swung his sword in a wide arc. He sliced the beast’s arm clean off. 

Passive voice: The short stone wall was leapt over by Wren. The sword was swung in a wide arc and the beast’s arm was sliced clean off. 

It’s awkward, right?

Notice how passive voice sucks all the action out of what should be an exciting moment and creates some distance between this pivotal moment and the reader—which we do not want. Good storytelling is engaging storytelling, writing that keeps readers’ attention. Readers should feel immersed in the moment, not like they’re watching it all from a distance, as passive voice conveys.

I think the ideal version of that scene is a combination of both active and passive voice:

Wren launched himself over the short stone wall and swung his sword in a wide arc (active). The beast’s arm was sliced clean off (passive).

Use of passive voice in the last sentence directs reader attention to the receiver and result of the action—the beast’s arm being sliced off—instead of the fact that it was Wren doing it. It may be a subtle difference, but remember: it’s your job to be aware of the subtle differences within writing and how they impact readers. Use them to your advantage. 

The real power of passive voice—especially within fiction—lies in its ability to draw reader attention to specific elements. Draw their eye to the exact detail you want them to focus on.

Tips for Identifying and Fixing Passive Voice

Writers shouldn’t be too concerned with passive voice when actually drafting their manuscripts. Let the words flow, then go back and comb through for where your novel could be improved by switching it to active voice. 

Remember: Not every use of passive voice needs to be made into active. Sometimes it is the best way to convey your idea, create the tone and atmosphere you want, and direct reader attention exactly where you want it. If that is the case, leave the passive voice alone. You’re using it perfectly. 

Try reading through your manuscript out loud. Not only will it help you detect clunky, awkward phrasing or stiff, unrealistic dialogue, it can also help you identify passive voice. 

“To be” verbs can be a good indicator of passive voice, but do not mistake every use of one as indicative of passive voice. 

Let’s revisit an example from above: 

The entire soccer team was looking forward to the tournament. 

Despite use of an auxiliary verb, “was,” this is still an active sentence. The subject (the soccer team) is still doing the action (looking forward to).

“By the” or “by [name]” phrases can also be an indicator of passive voice:

The window was closed by the teacher.

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich was made by Jane.

Instead of solely relying on searching for “to be” verbs or “by the” phrases as indictors, ensure that the sentence has both an auxiliary verb of “to be” and a past participle verb, that way you’ll be certain it’s grammatically passive. The subject should be receiving the action.

Auxiliary forms of “to be”:

am, is, are, was, were, being, been, will be

Any of these auxiliary verbs used with a past participle verb indicates passive voice.

Rework passive sentences so that the passive agent—the doer of the action—within the sentence is the subject of the sentence.

To Sum It Up

While some of the grammar details within this article may have been less than thrilling, the most basic detail you need to remember about how active and passive voice are formed and how they act is:

Active: Subject performs the action 

Passive: Subject receives the action

Active voice and passive voice both have a place in fiction writing. While you don’t want your novel to be bogged down by overusing passive voice, it absolutely has its uses. Both grammatical voices are all about the tone you want to create and where you want to draw reader attention with the subtleties of your phrasing. Use it to your advantage. 

It’s also worth mentioning that passive voice should not be confused with passive writing. “Passive writing” is a phrase often used to describe flat, uninspiring writing or telling instead of showing. This is not the same thing as passive voice. Yes, passive voice can create flat, passive writing and making your writing as immersive as possible will likely include snipping a few passive sentences out, but passive writing is an issue of style and passive voice is an issue of grammar. Use of passive voice may be a stylistic choice, but it is not the same as passive writing.

I hope you found this article helpful. If you’d like a professional’s help catching all the places in your manuscript where passive voice detracts from your story or could even benefit the story, don’t hesitate to reach out to me. Why wait any longer to take the next step in your writing journey? Let’s talk.

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