How Much is Too Much?

Details are the most powerful tool a writer has at hand. By skillfully describing a location or the way a character is feeling, the author can make their reader experience a mental movie. They don’t even notice the words on the page anymore, because they are so immersed in your writing. However, there is a problem that many writers struggle with and that is how much detail to put into something. How much is too much?

Before I get into this, let me give an example of how details can create a mental image. If I were to say, “My Dad is weird,” any number of things could pop into the reader’s head. One might think that my Dad stands on top of a hay wagon and yodels for hours on end and another might imagine him as a one man band on stilts. The list of possible mental pictures is endless. On the other hand, if I were to tell you, “My Dad likes to dance a jig while drinking hot chocolate and practicing his archery,” then those details plant the exact image I’m thinking in the reader’s head. When you’re writing, it’s important to convey what you’re thinking through your words and to convey exactly. Otherwise, there will be confusion as to your meaning.

So, how much is too much? God is the master storyteller, so let’s use the example of His Word, the Bible. During creation week, He explains everything He created. God wanted to make sure we knew exactly what He did and how He did it. Therefore, He used description! Also, look at the details God gave Noah in Genesis 6:14-16 when He told him to build the ark. “So make yourself an ark of cypress wood, make rooms in it and coat it with pitch inside and out. This is how you are to build it: The ark is to be 450 feet long, 75 feet wide and 45 feet high. Make a roof for it and finish the ark to within 18 inches of the top. Put a door in the side of the ark and make lower, middle and upper decks.” See how many details are put into this? Even though we might not know exactly how long 450 feet is or how high 45 feet is, we still know that the ark was huge. This is called detail mode. Details create mental images in your reader’s mind.

I was at a writing workshop this summer in Kansas and the speakers talked about description (and the importance of it) a lot. You don’t want your reader to feel like they’re mentally walking into an empty room. 

Some things, it’s fine to leave to their imagination. However, there are cases when this isn’t good at all and can actually make the reader frustrated with you as the author. If you start writing about a character in Chapter 1 and give very vague details—gender, age, area they live in--, the reader will start to build an image in their mind of what they look like. It doesn’t take long for them to establish this and connect it with that character. Let’s say the next physical description you give them is at the end of Chapter 3. By this point, your reader has decided that the main character is a petite, dark curly hair, blue-eyed female. This isn’t what you were thinking, though. In your mind, the main character is taller, has straight, long blonde hair and green eyes. I know I’ve experienced this several times when reading and it’s really frustrating and difficult to go back and change that picture you’ve thought up. 

Just like God did when telling Noah exactly how to build the ark, we need to show our readers exactly what we’re thinking.

There are some cases where details should be avoided. Instead, something called “summary mode” should be used. Again, let’s see what’s in the Bible. When Cain murdered his brother, Abel, the only description we get is, “And while they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him. (Genesis 4:8b)” We don’t need to know all the bloody gory details of how it happened. Abel was killed and that’s all we need to know. Or, look at the description we’re given of when Noah got drunk in Genesis 9:21, “Noah, a man of the soil, proceeded to plant a vineyard. When he drank some of its wine, he became drunk and lay uncovered inside his tent.” Summary mode makes it so the reader gets the concept of what happened, but doesn’t plant any inappropriate images in their minds.

Used skillfully, details and description can be the best tool the writer has. There are certain things that are best left untouched, or very briefly mentioned. Some very ugly things happen in the Bible. Summary mode is used to avoid planting images of sin. A lot of literature these days does glorify sin and give lots of unneeded details about it. You can still write realistic literature without going into every detail. 

If in doubt, leave it out. You don’t want your words to be a stumbling block for a reader or yourself. If God didn’t—or wouldn’t—describe every detail that goes into an event, then you shouldn’t either. Follow the example of the Lord, because He is the Master Storyteller. 

My Dad, by the way, enjoys both archery and hot chocolate—however, rarely at the same time and never while doing a jig.

 

Tools for Story Building (repost)

One of the most helpful things you can do to make your story better is to build to the story. Now, this does not mean going out in your backyard and building the whole story world. I think everyone would agree that’s a little extreme. Your friends would think you were crazy and your parents would lose their backyard. No, story building is something you do on paper and in your mind. “How do I do this?” you might ask. I’m about to give you a few tips that should help you out with building your story.

"How do I do this?"

First off, you want to let the Word of God fill your story. That doesn’t mean it has to be allegorical or you must have references to every Biblical truth. An example of this could be from the opening scene of Sherwood Pictures movie ‘Courageous’. The overarching theme in the movie is Biblical fatherhood and that’s shown right off in the opening scene. A father is at a gas station filling up his truck. He notices that there’s a smudge on the windshield so after checking in the back, goes to get something to clean it up. Unknown to the viewers at that point, his baby is in the backseat. Suddenly, a gangster runs up, jumps in the truck and starts to drive away. The father (Nathan Hayes) throws himself part-way through the window. It progresses until the bad guy finally can’t hold on to the wheel anymore and runs into a tree. Nathan was holding on to the wheel this whole time and jumped off the truck when it struck the tree. The gangster runs and gets into his accomplice’s car while Nathan painfully limps toward his truck. Two women had seen the last encounter and called 911. They tried to stop him from going towards the truck, but he refused. He reaches it an opens the door, at which point the viewers are shown his screaming baby. This scene right off shows the Biblical example of fatherhood without telling us Bible verses. It shows us that a father is supposed to be willing to lay down his life for his family, not tells us.

"Let the Word of God fill your story."

Another thing that I’ve found helpful is to start your story keeping the ending in mind. If you have no clue what your ending is, it’s going to be obvious to your readers. The characters need to be working towards something. It sometimes helps to write the ending first. “But I don’t have just one solid ending in mind!” you say. That’s fine! Sit down and think of all the possible endings your story could have, good and bad. Then, just write them all. They don’t have to be long or perfect, but it helps (believe me—I know!) to get the ending down. The story then sort of keeps you in line, because you already have things written. Writing things down helps so much.

Characters are obviously a very important part to your story. No one would want to read your story if it weren’t for the awesome, colorful characters you have, right? One of the things that makes characters interesting to the readers is the depth. Create backstories for your characters. It doesn’t necessarily have to be told in your story, but as you figure out their past you’ll be able to figure out their personality. It will make it easier for you to learn how they react to different things, what their passions are and what their dreams are. Characters also have to be different from each other. For example, the protagonist and the anatagonist obviously can’t act the same, talk the same and like the same things. There’s got to be an obvious difference (other than the fact that they’re fighting against each other) between your characters.

Claudius, a page in medieval times, walks up to his page friend Damian. After Damian acknowledges him he says, “Hey dude. How’s it going?” Confusion starts to muddle your brain. This is a medieval story…they aren’t supposed to talk that way! Yet another thing that helps your story is research. I can’t say this enough, so I’ll say it again—Research the time period you’re writing in! All of us are guilty of not researching enough sometimes, but even though we may not enjoy it, it’s a necessary part of writing. It will help you out in writing and make it easier, so that you’re not constantly worrying about breaking rules. You know the rules, so you won’t (hopefully) break them. Simple as that.

"They aren't supposed to talk that way!"

God gave you this wonderful talent for writing—use it to glorify Him. Pray that He’ll give you ideas to use in your novel that will glorify Him and show His truth and His glory to a dying world.

With a friend like you, who needs enemies?

This comic was my inspiration for the following short story.

 “I’ll take a mocha frappuccino please, and that’s all.”

The cashier pokes a button on the black cash register. It dings and the amount shows on the screen in glowing numbers.

 “That will be $3.50, please.”

I hand him my card and look around the coffee shop. Most of the tables and couches are full, with the exception of the in the middle. College students pound furiously on the keys of their laptops. A young couple is cuddled up on the love seat, whispering and sipping their drinks. Near the windows, an elderly man sits in a rocking chair. The smell of fresh ground coffee fills the store and I inhale deeply, enjoying the aroma. The cashier slides my card towards me. Smiling, I take it and move to the other end of the counter. A cheerful young barista places my coffee in front of me.

 “Thank you and have a lovely day!”

I nod in reply and grab the cold drink. Readjusting my purse strap, I amble towards the tables and sit down at the only open one—one in the middle of the room. I pull out the chair and it squeaks against the floor. I am barely in my seat before the one across from me is pulled out, sat in and pushed back in.

 “Hi!”

Setting my coffee on the table, I pull my chair in and look at the hyper friend sitting across from me. Where did she come from?  She holds a coffee in her hands as well. A white label peeks out from under her fingers and I just make out the word ‘espresso’ before she raises it to her lips and takes a drink. Wonderful.

 “Are you sure you should be drinking that?” I ask, raising my eyebrows just a little bit.

Turning, she hangs her purse on her chair and then replies, “Oh sure. It’s fine. I get these all the time. They got like, no affect on me.”

My eye starts to itch and I blink, trying to dislodge the invisible speck. I close my lips around the straw of my drink and take a sip before replying.

 “You do?”

She nods. “Yeppers! They’re like the bestest.”

A peculiar burning sensation comes over my eyes. I reach up and rub them. They start to water up and I blink again.  My friend cocks her head to one side, her bright green streaked hair brushing her shoulder. She places her coffee on the table and folds her hands in front of her, her ring glinting on her left ring finger. I smile at her before taking a tissue out of my purse and blowing my now congested nose. The charm bracelet on my right wrist rubs against my cheek.  What is going on?  I felt fine just a minute ago!

 “You like look terrible. Do you like got a cold or somethin’?”

This time I reach for a napkin and blow my nose. “No, I don’t have a cold.” My voice sounds funny and seems to echo in my head. I pick up my drink and place it against my forehead.

 “I just remembered somethin’. You haven’t learnt how to play Settlers of Catan yet. Do you want to like come over later?”

My throat starts to constrict and my lungs began to burn. Taking a sip from my coffee, I have difficulty swallowing it, but the cool feels wonderful against my throat. I turn to my right and lean down, picking up my purse from the floor. Placing it on glass-topped table, I dig through it. I’ve got to find my inhaler! My fingers grasp the familiar shape of the medicine and I pull it out. I shake it and then inhale the contents. The burning in my lungs starts to subside. A long stream of endless chatter comes from across the table, my friend oblivious to my discomfort.

 “So me and him finished the game. I want you to know how to play too! It’s like the funnest game ever!”

My heart starts to beat quicker and I struggle to breathe. The itching in my eyes continues and my nose seems to be congested faster than I can clear it out. Shaking my inhaler, I again breathe in the medicine. My friend pauses to glance up, realizing I hadn’t responded in a while.

 “Oh Mylanta! I should of called 911 by now! You look terrible. Your eyes is all red and weepy,” she pushes my drink towards me, her nails squeaking on the glass top. “You got to drink this. It will help.”

Breathing becomes more labored now and I raise the drink to my lips. The sweet drink fills my mouth, but I barely taste it. I try to swallow and a round of coughing happens instead. I clap my hands over my mouth, attempting to keep the drink in. I can feel the glares from other people around the coffee shop. One even has the audacity to say, “Shhh.” The coughing subsides for a moment and I swallow.

Wiping my wet eyes, I turn to my friend, pleading, “Please-“

 “-call 911? Well, you could of told me that a while ago. I’m so sorry, honey! I ain’t been much help!”

She reaches into her purse as another round of coughing overcomes me. My lungs burn and at this point, I know the inhaler won’t help.       

“Hello, is this like, 911?”

A muffled voice comes across the other end of the phone. I try to drink my coffee, thinking the liquid will subdue my coughing. It doesn’t. Instead, I spew it across a table next to me, completely soaking someone’s novel. They jump up and shout something at me, but I’m too distracted to hear their words.

“My friend like has got this like allergy thing going on and well, she like can’t breathe. What caused it? How would of I known? I ain’t never seen her like this before. How pacific do you need me to be? Y’all just need to get yourselves here now.”

I start to feel lightheaded and place my head in my hands, still coughing. The cough racks my body and everything starts to feel swollen. Breathing heavily, I try to focus on the line the runs around the edge of the table. It seems to wobble and move in a million different directions.

The bell above the door dings again and I’m vaguely aware of someone talking to me. My friend chatters in the background, along with a deep voice I don’t recognize. Several hands grip my arms and gently pull me up from my chair. They guide me to lie down on something and I try to get my eyes focused. All I can see is the color they are wearing—white. Something sharp jabs into my arm and I wince, and then continue to cough even more.

After what seems like hours of coughing, my breathing starts to return to normal. The coughing subsides. My throat feels scratchy and I raise my hand to scratch around my neck, knowing it won’t help. A man with dark hair leans over me. He also wears a white uniform.

“Ma’am, I want to explain what just happened to you.”

I nod.

 “Your friend here tells me that you’re a writer. You suffer from an allergy very common in this job. Miss, you’re allergic to grammatical errors.”

I open my eyes wide, instantly regretting it. The cold air reaches the still itching parts and causes them to water once again. “Grammatical errors? Why haven’t I noticed this before?”

The paramedic starts to reply, but is pushed aside. My friend stands in his place, a worried expression on her face.

 “You ain’t going to die are you? I got them here. I know I should have like called them sooner. You were like all red and like coughing and stuff. ”

My throat starts to constrict again and my lungs burn. Covering my mouth, my cough returns.

“Miss, I need you to leave please,” says the paramedic, in an authoritative tone.

The man escorts her out of the coffee shop. She screams (using bad grammar of course) about the “injustice of the situation” and I use my inhaler again. After my cough calms down, I glance around the coffee shop. 

People sit at the various tables, some holding their coffee cups halfway to their mouths. Others look annoyed and still others have their cellphones pulled out, recording the entire scene. Embarrassed, I decide to stare at the ceiling instead.

I turn to the paramedic. “Sir, why haven’t I noticed this before?”

He rubbed his mustache and then replied, “What you thought was asthma was the beginning of your allergies. 

With the repeated exposure to grammatical errors, it has caused your condition to worsen.”

“Holy cow. You ruined my book over that? That made me so mad,” a voice yells behind me.

Oh, I’ve just got to get out of here. I struggle to my feet. Blood rises to my cheeks. Walking forward, I grab my purse off the chair. The room starts to spin and I grab the edge of the table. Just leave. I barely make it two steps before I black out.

Creepy Library--Part 2

The scratching continues and I pull myself up from the chair, clenching my dead cell phone in my quivering hands.

“Who’s there?” I ask, my voice shaking.

Some sort of hiss replaces the scratching. Timidly, I step into the shadows and towards the noise.  I weave my way through the bookcases and as I get closer, a low growl joins in with the hissing. I come to the end of the row and peek out. A window sits in the wall directly opposite, moonlight pouring in from the night and illuminating the area. I squint my eyes, trying to adjust to the sudden light.

A dark shape sits plastered against the wall under the window. I inch a little closer to investigate.

“It’s a cat! Just a dumb old cat,” I laugh at myself.

Relief overcomes me and I slide down the wall about twenty feet away from the feral animal. The cat continues to growl at me and cower against the wall, but doesn’t make a move to run.

“I would let you out, but the doors are locked. Guess it’s just you and me tonight.”

He hisses in reply and I roll my eyes. After a while, he quiets down and only growls every couple of minutes. 

The cat is completely jet black, except for a small spot of white on the tip of his nose and the end of one of his paws.  His skin is stretched tight over his bones and it looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. Scratches cover his body, some bloody and infected. I reach out my hand toward him and my jacket crinkles. He jumps up, hair standing on end, and hisses.

“Okay, nevermind,” I quip.

I bring my knees up to my chest and rest my head on top. “Well, goodnight cat.”

~*~

A sharp slap wakes me up. I jump up, still clenching my phone. Looking out the window, I can see frost covering the ground. Sun pours in through the window.

“What have I told you about sleeping in here, you hooligan? Out, out! This is not a hotel!”

I turn toward the voice and instantly wish I hadn’t. An irate librarian stands in front of me, several books cradled in one arm and what looks like a ruler clenched in her other fist. I stumbled backwards, tripping over a children’s bookcase in the process. The contents spill out all over the red carpet floor. Nervously, I stoop down to pick them up, only to get another string of irate comments from the woman.

“Okay, sorry. I’ll leave.”

She places her books on the nearest table and glares at me. I reach out my hand and shake her free one.

“Have a lovely day.”

____________________________________________________________

Next week I will resume my normal, random descriptions. Hopefully happy ones too. If anyone has any suggestions for the description practice, let me know in the comments below! :)

Creepy Library

Tables sit in the middle of the room, a light hanging over them. I run my fingers over the small plaque on the side of the table. ‘Property of the City Library’. Bookshelves line the walls, casting eerie shadows from the light. I shiver and wrap my arms tightly around myself before plopping down in one of the chairs.

Just stay in the light and there’s nothing to worry about. Go to sleep and you can leave when the librarians come back in the morning.

I glance around the room suspiciously before letting myself doze off. Several minutes later, I hear a scratching sound. I leap up from the chair, sending it flying behind me. It clatters to the floor and the sound resonates around the room. Wincing, I listen again for the sound. Nothing.

With caution, I pick up the chair and set it down again facing the table. Looking around, I see there is no way to turn it so that only my front is exposed. If I face the table, my back is open on that side. If I face away from the table, my back is open to the other side.

“Great,” I mutter to myself.

I plop down in the chair, deciding it’s a better idea to face the way the noise came from. I stare out into the darkness, mentally challenging something to come after me. The library air conditioner kicks on and before long, the building starts to feel much cooler. Cars pass outside every few minutes. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I pull out my cell phone and set it on my leg. I throw the hood over my head and zip it all the way before grabbing my phone again, accidentally pressing one of the buttons as I grab it. The display remains black. My heart starts to beat faster and I push down the power button, hoping that it will turn on. Again, nothing. It’s dead.

Another scratching noise comes from the direction of the bookcases. I stiffen and sit straight up in my chair, clutching at my dead phone until my knuckles turn white. 

Piano (description)

Light glistens white against the black polish on the piano. It looks alone in the middle of the stage. Dark blue velvet curtains hang limp on the sides of the stage and a single spotlight illuminates the area.

I ascend the steps to the stage, my heels clicking against the stairs and the peach dress swishing around my legs. The auditorium sits in silence as I walk across the stage. The clicking seems to reverberate off the walls. 

My palms start to feel sweaty and I play with the sheet music in my left hand, sliding the pages back and forth against each other.

After what seems like hours, I reach the piano. Taking a deep breath, I slide the bench out and sit down. The cushiony seat bounces a little. Hands shaking, I spread out my sheet music on the music rack of the piano and lift the lid covering the keys. I smile and brush my hands lightly over the rows of ivory and black.

I take one more breath before placing my hands on the keys. The hammers strike the strings on the grand piano as my fingers fly over the keys. The music sounds rich and deep and I grin from the sheer enjoyment of it.

All too soon, the piece is over and the audience is cheering. Shaking, I stand up from the bench and grin. The audience stands and applauds and I curtsy before awkwardly making my way off the stage.

Cricket night (description)

I lay back on the hammock and push off with my feet. It sways side to side slowly and I close my eyes. A cool breeze blows through the pines around me and I inhale the fresh scent. Crickets chirp all around, their chorus almost deafening. The soft hum of an engine can be heard in the distance and I open my eyes. A plane flies overhead and I can barely make out its lights through the tree branches.

The breeze starts to blow stronger and I wrap my jacket tighter around me. Pine needles  click against each other above me, adding to the cricket’s chorus. A owl hoots in the tree above me and I open my eyes wide, trying to catch a glimpse of him. The light from the full moon reveals his silhouette perched high at the top of the tree. I can barely see his head turning from side to side as he searches for prey. Silently, he launches himself from the branch and glides down into the grass behind me. 

Weekly Description--Cold

Cold wind whistled through the ice-covered trees. The branches clinked together, sounding like hundreds of little wind chimes. I shivered and wrapped my arms tightly around me, trying to keep out the cold. The flannel coat I wore for protection did little more than give my hands something to grab. Snow drifts covered the ground and were lit up with the blue light from the moon. A dark shadow passed over the ground. Gasping, I whirled and looked up, only to see a solitary owl silhouetted against the moon. I watched as he flew further into the trees until I could see him no more. A sharp squeal came from the direction he had flown and I knew he’d found his prey.

Trudging forward, I stumbled on the slick surface. Ice covered most of the snow, making it nearly impossible to walk on. At least my feet are somewhat dry. The forest began to get more and more dense as I walked forward. Soon, I could no longer see much light. Little beams let their way through the tangle of ice covered branches. Occasionally, the light reflected off several ice covered limbs at once, making them look like Christmas lights. 

This might be going into a short-story-turned-novel-that-needs-planned that I'm working on for an English class. No, the assignment is not to write a novel. I'll submit a short story and probably turn it into a novel afterwards. I have trouble doing short things. :P

Weekly Description

I'm going to start posting a description from things I've written. I will post it once a week. The description could be short or long...one paragraph or several. Hopefully, this will help me stay a bit more motivated to actually write (yes, I admit I've not been the best at my writing time lately) and try to come up with a good mental picture for things. When I went to the One Year Adventure Novel  Summer Workshop, there were several speakers who talked about description. It's really important that you describe things in your novel so that your reader has a clear mental picture of what you're thinking of. If you neglect this, then either they'll come up with their own idea or the story won't feel real to them. Another thing could happen (especially so with character descriptions). If you don't show how a character looks until the end of Chapter 1 or beginning of Chapter 2, the reader has already formed their own idea of what they want the character to look like. When you finally do get around to describing that, it makes it harder for the reader to switch to what you pictured in your mind.

Anyways, moving on with the post now. Here is description number 1:

The lights that still worked flickered. All of the fixtures were dusty and covered with spider webs and dead bugs. Mildew stained the floors and the walls certainly looked like they’d seen better days. Graffiti covered most of them, proclaiming profane statements and some things I couldn’t even read. Remnants from the spray paint accented the floor. A cold, musty smell filled the air.

--Excerpt from Chapter 2 of a futuristic/sci-fi/dystopian/young adult collective novel.