October 21, 2002

Have you ever had trouble trying to tell someone that you didn't like their story? Oh, but I have. This is why I rarely, if ever, ask someone's opinion on something I've written. I've learned from painful experience that if they liked it, they will probably volunteer the information on their own. Whereas, if they didn't like it, you'd best just not ask.

I've had people many times ask me to read something they've written and then tell whether or not I liked it. I like to tell myself that I am an honest person, but there's something about telling someone their story blows ugly rotten chunks that just goes against the grain with me. But then, I don't want to lie to them. So I reach a compromise. "Consider changing a few tiny little things, such as the premise," I might say, or, "I think this could work if your intended audience consists of head trauma patients."

Who am I kidding? Actually, in those situations, I just lie like the weakling that I am. The writer, who is occasionally an earnest, generally shy person, gives me a big, hopeful, sparkly-eyed grin as he takes the stack of papers from me, waiting for me to uplift and affirm him with my words of praise and adoration for his perhaps hours of emotional and intellectual effort, into which he has poured his very soul.

I kind of smile back at him, thinking of all the things I want to tell him, that I should tell him. If it were good, if I had liked it, I could tell him that! If it were workable, if it simply had a few kinks, if it was an interesting concept but poorly executed, I could say that! But sometimes, it's none of these things, and if I were honest, I would end up saying many horrible and rotten things such as: "I think it could work, you know, if the main character were more believable and sympathetic and you had a different theme and maybe a different premise and also if you had talent."

But all I can say is... "I liked it." However, I send him subtle signals such as my awkward grin, the relative quietness of my voice, my continual flinching and obvious desire to get away from him, trying to inform him that beneath my words, I am really a terrible, pagan liar.

But does this cause him to smile and nod and leave me in peace? Oh no. He has to ask, "Really? What did you like about it?" completely not picking up on the signals. They never pick up on the signals.

"Oh," I say, trying desperately to think of some redeeming quality of this story. "The imagery. Yeah. The imagery. Really good imagery." All the while, I am sending even stronger signals so totally unsubtle that people in whole other cities suddenly get the vague impression that somebody doesn't like their story.

He, however, says: "What else did you like?"

At this point, I just run away, because I can't handle being that critical to people in person. Perhaps in written form I feel freer to express myself (no kidding, Chris), but while the person is there, right in front of me, all happy and hopeful, I just can't.

So now I list for you some personal pet peeves of mine, so you can see for yourself whether I will like your story or not without even having to give it to me. This will save a lot of embarrassment on both our parts. (Or maybe you'll just realize that my opinion doesn't matter and you won't bother. That's probably the way to go.)

1)INSTEAD OF SAID

Sure, dialog tags can get boring occasionally. They are not helped, however, by random thesaurus consultations, as some people appear to believe:

"Hi, everybody!" greeted Wanda.

"What's going on?" interrogated Jim.

"Not much," she pouted.

"Sorry to hear it," Jim chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Wanda queried.

"Nothing!" Jim ejaculated.

I have honestly read stories that go like this. What's wrong with "said" every once in a while? Dialog tags are allowed to be boring because you're not supposed to notice them - you're supposed to be concentrating on the dialog. Moving right along...

2)DESCRIPTION FOR NO REASON

Description can serve many good and noble purposes, like setting the mood, establishing character, or even showing off your flair for irony. This does not mean, however, that I want to hear about how antiseptic the main character's bathroom is, or how beautiful the forest is, or how shadows "dance." The fact of the matter is that the human imagination is quite powerful, and doesn't need to be told the color of each individual piece of furniture in a room to imagine an "opulent ballroom," for example. The imagination especially doesn't need to be told in a vaguely poetic style intended to show off how wonderfully observant and deep the writer is.

3)FEAR OF EXPOSITION

On the other hand, sometimes I wish the author would stop and tell me what the heck is going on. I don't want exposition a la Tolkein , or, even worse, Hugo ("While I'm mentioning the remarkable Archbishop of Digne, allow me to expound upon his history and character for 89 pages despite his insignificance in the remaining 900 pages of the novel."). But some occasional time spent explaining things is not time poorly spent.

Exposition is most important, of course, at the beginning, when authors, for no apparent reason, seem to fear it most. Maybe it's just me, but "It was a brisk, cool fall day in the small Illinois town of Marible, not that anyone in the town noticed, because they were all dead" is a more interesting opening than "James closed his eyes and took a deep breath." For one thing, we don't know who this "James" character is, and the fact that he closed his eyes and took a deep breath doesn't make the reader really care who he is either. Whereas, by the first sentence we know a good bit about Marible already, and quite possibly are desirous to learn more.

While it is sometimes an effective technique to leave the reader hanging for a page or so before you let him or her in on what's going on, usually you just end up losing them (by them, of course, I mean "me").

4)INSTEAD OF SAID

Did I mention that this really bothers me?

Anyway, you will probably never ever again think of letting me look at anything you write, but just so long as I'm right there in front of you, I promise to tell you I liked the imagery.