When we first sat down to write we did so for one reason alone: we love words, and we love using them. We manipulate them, we make love to them, and when we’re done, we enjoy a metaphysical cigarette with them, without the guilt. But sometimes, and you know who you are, the experience doesn’t quite reach climax. You pull your hair out, and utter expletives, and kick the dog looking for the reason, but your efforts are for naught, and all you’ve got is vet bills. You just can’t get that paragraph to bleed. And if you can’t do that, if you can’t inject a little feeling into the thing, if all you’ve got is a gleaming but empty vessel, then you’ve got problems.
Emotion, with a capital E, drives your literary voice, that thing inside of you that longs to supersede the voice you picked up from your favorite author. But can you add emotion to the narrative and to the characters, in their internal monologue or their dialogue? Yes, you really can.
What makes a character come alive for a reader is three-dimensionality. Simply put, explore your character. One or two-dimensional characters are hardly the food for vicarious, emotional adventure. And you definitely want your reader to identify vicariously.
Learn everything you can about your character, from shoe size to mental size to what makes them cry. And cry they should, or at least have something interesting to say to the reader. If they’re emotionally flat, your reader will feel that. And then, eventually, regardless of how technically proficient you are, your reader will discover that you really didn’t have a very good time writing this book, so they probably won’t have a very good time reading it either. Then they’ll put it down. And they won’t tell their friends, who won’t tell their friends, and you’ll be stuck with lousy sales. If you’ve gotten that far.
But sometimes, even when we explore a character ad nauseum, we still have problems. And there are those who may never be able to overcome those problems. It’s in their genetic makeup. They want to be warm, they want their characters to be emotional and interesting, but they just can’t do it.
The following may sound trite, but it works. While you’re writing, play a piece of music that complements the mood you’re trying to set. Eventually the music becomes white noise, but, believe me, it will have an effect. Everyone, right- and left- brained people alike, feels the magic of music to some degree. Rhythm can be had in a key of C and in a paragraph, and sometimes one complements the other. Of course, if you’re looking for evocative prose, don’t play Vince Gill. On the other hand, if you want something with snappy repartee, don’t play Moonlight Sonata. (And yes, both can have heart. )
The time of day helps, too. If you’re writing something spooky, create the proper atmosphere. If you’re writing a love scene, feel free to get in the mood. Drive your imagination to parts unknown and explore. Well, that’s what we are, after all–explorers trudging down a literacy path fraught with dangers learned from years of writing classes.
Forget that for a while. While you and your stream of consciousness are on that path, forget the damn rules. Forget punctuation and syntax (no, syntax didn’t fill the pilgrim’s coffers. ) Write what’s in your heart, what you feel–what your character feels, because you know so much about them. Don’t ignore that inner voice, don’t ignore nuances. Write them down and then, later, when you’ve gotten your breath back, take a second look. Then you can apply a rule or two.
But be careful. Minimalism has crept into the literary marketplace and all that wonderful emotion–heart–you’ve tried so hard to add to your piece through character development and music, etc. , can disappear with one press of the delete key. Explore your piece thoroughly before you edit it. Discover what gives it heart, and then press on to that final product.
Some say that graphite sliding over paper helps, too, that a unique bond is created between the word and wordsmith that can’t be had using a computer or even a typewriter.
I say, if you can find heart in a number two pencil, then go for it. State of mind, whether real or imagined, is pretty much the same thing.
Again, and in summary, what makes a piece readable, after you’ve conquered all the rules, is the ability to transmit to the reader that you actually like writing. That this book was not drudgery, done for the bucks, that it was a climactic, invigorating and satisfying experience.
Then you and your reader can both have a cigarette without the guilt.