Don't Ad to the Verb

First it was “fast forward,” and now it’s “rewind.”

I’ve had a chance to pick up and read a 12-year-old copy of a Realms of Fantasy issue recently. There are 5 more issues from the same year waiting for me to go through, but honestly, I’m afraid to crack them open. RoF, recently purchased by Tir Na Nog Press, was still being published up until April 2009 (and due out again this month for Aug. 09, under the new ownership), and I imagine editor Shawna McCarthy continued to evolve over the past decade when it came to selecting materials. But there was this one story published — mixed in with stories and articles by accomplished authors, such as Terri Windling, David Phelan and Tanith Lee — that looks to have snuck into the pages of RoF of its own accord. I won’t mention which issue or author I’m referring to, as it’s not my intent to embarrass him/her. I hope that author continued to write and hone craft in the meantime, and has gone on to publish much better stories since.

No, I mention this here because the story is fresh in my mind, and it illustrates the worst in crafting fiction. I still can’t understand how it got published in a high-profile magazine. Was it an accident? Interestingly, its author was not listed on the contributor’s bio page, although he/she appeared in the contents.

What was wrong with it, you ask? Almost everything. Basic 101 fiction gone melodramatic: Points-of-View hobbled, leapt and teetered back and forth between characters in the same paragraphs. Punctuation was used erratically. Nearly every sentence in these 4,000+ words used one or more ridiculous adverbs. Oh! the adverbs! Dialogue was smarmy, pelted with unbelievable emotional outbursts; character development relied only on this unconvincing dialogue. Typos abounded. It was as though the manuscript never got past the first draft, and then was never proofread.

I admit there was something compelling in the plot. Which is why I suffered, groaning, through the story for eight, long, double-column pages. I kept hoping for improvement. Praying for some fabulous plot twists to explain how the story made it past all censors and into print, despite its obviously amateurish development.

And me-oh-my, in the end all I got for my pains was a predictable surprise? ending, and an urge to write about my frustrations. Really, it was all terrible. But what was the worst, besides every don’t in the writer’s handbook done?

Back to those wretched adverbs.

Using adverbs isn’t all bad. But use them sparingly, please. Please. Adverbs are loud and they stomp all over your writing if not used judiciously. They’d better say something brilliant, or else they’re just like raucous children on the playground. They must be specific and not haphazard. Adverbs tell you what to see, rather than show you. Strong verbs illustrate.

The girl ran quickly. The girl raced. Which sentence evokes intensity?

If you’re a poet, are you wondering about how adverbs effect your poems? It’s the same. Judicious use, okay. But as poems rely upon brevity in comparison to prose, the more succinct you can express your imagery, the more clear your lines become. Adverbs tend to muddy your poems. Yes, there are always exceptions, but when looking to prune your poetry (and fiction), get rid of as many adverbs as possible. If you think you need them to describe something “just-so,” then find more vibrant verbs to take their places.

The other authors who appeared in this particular issue of RoF that has me so riled up by one story a dozen years after publication (a lesson that our chosen words can live on, sometimes to our chagrin) had little trouble choosing effective verbs. Yet still I’m reluctant to be ambushed by another shoddily-written story from that same period of RoF history. In all fairness to Shawna’s tenure as an editor, I should resolve myself to checking out a more current issue. And thank her for giving me this opportunity to warn my own contributors against the perils of over-employing the melodramatic adverb.


—EAH

Fast-forward Four Years

It's all Jeff Crouch's fault and his Famous Album Covers blog ... otherwise I wouldn't be back on Blogspot, where I discovered I couldn't log in with my old profile. Ha. If I get back to posting here, it will be in tandem with Live Journal and other assorted online public venues. At least I'm linked back in (via Google) and can get rid of the old and get back to date with current news.


I'm still musing about the postcard that arrived today from poet Pearl Pirie. (Thank you, Pearl, by the way -- the poem is amazing and much longer than what I'm used to receiving on a postcard.)

Her poem to me is called White Caps, and flatteringly enough, the epigraph is a quote from one of my own poems, Wild Man Hours, (The HyperTexts). What a gift! I always daydreamed about being quoted while I was a young and novice writer. And here I am, twice in 30 days, even (Interview -- Long Story, Short). I hope this is a sign of arrival.


Toodles.
Until the next random scribe-by.