Read Online 250 Things You Should Know About Writing by Chuck Wendig - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chuck Wendig
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details per item in the room , then suddenly I'm writing 1,436 details. I think it just means, “keep the details to a minimum, asshole.”)
6. Describe What Matters
Describe only what matters to the story. If the reader must know something, then ensure she knows it. I don't give a fuck about your lamp. Or what leaf-rot is on the oak tree outside. Or what the tag on the dog's collar looks like. If you choose to describe these things, it should be because I need to know them. A character is going to brain another with the lamp. The leaf-rot is part of a larger plot point about some sort of botanical doom-fungus . The tag on the dog's collar is shaped like a lucky four-leaf clover because his owner is William "Irish Billy" McArdle, an ex-IRA bomber turned merc thug, and the clover is his signature.
7. Speedbumps And Slammed Doors
Over-description slows down the pace of reading -- and, if it's truly too egregious, the reader will slam the door and walk away. (In Internet parlance? tl;dr -- "too long, didn't read.") This is true when writing scripts, too -- description separates out action and dialogue, and those two things keep a script's story moving. Heavy description can kill a script like a hammer-blow to the skull.
8. That's Not To Say Fat Is Not An Essential Flavor
That's not to say a reader won't find detail compelling. Fat can be flavorful. Simply describing the antagonist's Dodge Charger as "cherry red" seems like a non-essential detail. But always look for the ways that description can do double-duty. The fact that the muscle car is cherry red suggests deeper meaning. We know that red cars are likely to be pulled over. We intuit that red is a color of anger, blood, fire. The character's choice of color can tell us something about that character. Thus, the detail seems fatty, and it is -- but it's also an essential fat. Like what you get from olive oil, or avocados, or the unctuous barnacles scraped from the thighs of Oprah Winfrey.
9. That Goes For The Goddamn Weather, Too
Fuck weather. Too many writers go straight to describing the weather. I think it comes from that old saw, "It was a dark and stormy night," except everyone seems to forget that it comes from a laughably bad book. Describe the weather only if it matters. If a storm has physical effects on the plot, describe it. A miserably cold day might cause a car accident (ice) or lost visibility (blizzard). If the weather matters, tell us. Pro-tip: it usually doesn't matter.
10. Well, Somebody's A Moody Bitch
You can use description to create or enhance mood, sure. That is, I think, why some writers try to describe the weather -- "Oh! It's thundering, and so I'm creating a mood of impending doom ." Really? You can't do any better? It’s thunder or nothing? Here's the thing: you can describe something in a way that is both meaningful to the story and conveys mood. Were you interested in stirring up a pervasive mood of rot and decay , you could describe the rust on the character's gun, or some skin disorder he's suffering. Those things can affect the plot (the gun eventually jams, the skin disorder worsens). Description there serves both mood and story.
11. Time To Take A Test
Walk into a room. Preferably one with which you're not intimately familiar. Look around for 30 seconds. Time that shit. Don't wing it. Then walk out. Wait five minutes. Make some toast. Pour a drink. Pet the dog. Masturbate wantonly. After five minutes, write down those details you believe are essential to capturing the "roomness" of that room. Write down as many details as you'd like. By the end, cut it down to three. Then cut it down to one. Just to see. How’d you do? You failed. F+. I’m kidding. I could never fail you. Not as long as you keep sending me checks.
12. Don't Bury The Lede
Stories often rely on critical details that come out through description. A facial tic. A bomb under the table. A mysterious artifact known as the "Astronaut's Anal
6. Describe What Matters
Describe only what matters to the story. If the reader must know something, then ensure she knows it. I don't give a fuck about your lamp. Or what leaf-rot is on the oak tree outside. Or what the tag on the dog's collar looks like. If you choose to describe these things, it should be because I need to know them. A character is going to brain another with the lamp. The leaf-rot is part of a larger plot point about some sort of botanical doom-fungus . The tag on the dog's collar is shaped like a lucky four-leaf clover because his owner is William "Irish Billy" McArdle, an ex-IRA bomber turned merc thug, and the clover is his signature.
7. Speedbumps And Slammed Doors
Over-description slows down the pace of reading -- and, if it's truly too egregious, the reader will slam the door and walk away. (In Internet parlance? tl;dr -- "too long, didn't read.") This is true when writing scripts, too -- description separates out action and dialogue, and those two things keep a script's story moving. Heavy description can kill a script like a hammer-blow to the skull.
8. That's Not To Say Fat Is Not An Essential Flavor
That's not to say a reader won't find detail compelling. Fat can be flavorful. Simply describing the antagonist's Dodge Charger as "cherry red" seems like a non-essential detail. But always look for the ways that description can do double-duty. The fact that the muscle car is cherry red suggests deeper meaning. We know that red cars are likely to be pulled over. We intuit that red is a color of anger, blood, fire. The character's choice of color can tell us something about that character. Thus, the detail seems fatty, and it is -- but it's also an essential fat. Like what you get from olive oil, or avocados, or the unctuous barnacles scraped from the thighs of Oprah Winfrey.
9. That Goes For The Goddamn Weather, Too
Fuck weather. Too many writers go straight to describing the weather. I think it comes from that old saw, "It was a dark and stormy night," except everyone seems to forget that it comes from a laughably bad book. Describe the weather only if it matters. If a storm has physical effects on the plot, describe it. A miserably cold day might cause a car accident (ice) or lost visibility (blizzard). If the weather matters, tell us. Pro-tip: it usually doesn't matter.
10. Well, Somebody's A Moody Bitch
You can use description to create or enhance mood, sure. That is, I think, why some writers try to describe the weather -- "Oh! It's thundering, and so I'm creating a mood of impending doom ." Really? You can't do any better? It’s thunder or nothing? Here's the thing: you can describe something in a way that is both meaningful to the story and conveys mood. Were you interested in stirring up a pervasive mood of rot and decay , you could describe the rust on the character's gun, or some skin disorder he's suffering. Those things can affect the plot (the gun eventually jams, the skin disorder worsens). Description there serves both mood and story.
11. Time To Take A Test
Walk into a room. Preferably one with which you're not intimately familiar. Look around for 30 seconds. Time that shit. Don't wing it. Then walk out. Wait five minutes. Make some toast. Pour a drink. Pet the dog. Masturbate wantonly. After five minutes, write down those details you believe are essential to capturing the "roomness" of that room. Write down as many details as you'd like. By the end, cut it down to three. Then cut it down to one. Just to see. How’d you do? You failed. F+. I’m kidding. I could never fail you. Not as long as you keep sending me checks.
12. Don't Bury The Lede
Stories often rely on critical details that come out through description. A facial tic. A bomb under the table. A mysterious artifact known as the "Astronaut's Anal
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