My Almost 7-Year-Old, the Comedian
After writing a paragraph in his history notebook on Friday about our 5th president, my son drew a picture of James Monroe carrying a serving tray, and perched atop the tray were George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and James Madison.
What on Earth?
“Because my book said Monroe served Washington, Jefferson, and Madison during their terms in the White House.”
And then he laughed. “Get it?”
Yeah, I got it.
I love this kid.
Scrabble, Anyone?
The tournament doesn’t use official Scrabble rules. It’s a team game, six to eight at a table, and my mother and I were joined with a bunch of other stragglers, ones and twos who registered late and teamless. Immediately we were at a disadvantage; teams received an extra 100 points for wearing a uniform or costume, and 100 points for having a corporate sponsor.
Given that it’s a fundraiser, teams are allowed to “buy” extra letters, based on the tile’s point value. So, Zs and Qs cost $10, As and Es cost $1, etc. However, there are a finite number of available letters for purchase. Our team quickly pooled our cash and bought four extra Zs and two extra Qs. Also, if a word covers two Triple Word Score boxes, it’s worth 6 times the original point value. We spelled quixotic in the top left corner for 204 points, and quizzically down the left side for 360 points. Quixotic was one of my offerings, having just read it with my literature students in The Importance of Being Earnest. (Coincidentally, we also read Don Quixote this year, and I gleefully pointed out to my kids how literature impacts culture – they were not as impressed as I.)
Teams lose 50 points for each incorrectly spelled word, so $5 bought a peek in the official Scrabble dictionary. My team had no misspellings, though someone paid to look up tic, despite several people assuring her it was a real word, even without the K.
Finally, at the end of the night, winners were announced. Yes, my team won – a bunch of throw-togethers – and I left with a bottle of champagne and the most adorable “trophy” – the word CHAMPION spelled out in Scrabble tiles, glued to the wooden holder, with a little dated plaque on the backside. And quixotic was the word of the night; I was quickly deemed the brightest 10th grader in the room. Yes, you read correctly. I had three separate conversations with team members – in a two-hour period – assuring them that, no, I was not a sophomore, and yes, I really was 31 years old, and no, I didn’t have to give my bottle of champagne away. I’m used to it, really. It happens all the time.
Operation Rewrite
I finished my editing of Home Another Way. Of course, I procrastinated, but in the end made a few minor scene tweaks, a few overactive adjective chops, and one rather extensive scene rewrite.
I won’t give away my major change; it doesn’t affect the plot. I will say it includes the elimination of a rather unseemly “hissy fit” by my protagonist. By taking it out, I felt it gave more weight to another emotional breakdown Sarah has in the novel. And really, who wants to read through two tantrums? One’s most certainly enough.
Novel Helps Part IV: Wimpy Verbs
Do you remember the Hefty garbage bags commercial? “Hefty, hefty, hefty.” “Wimpy, wimpy, wimpy.” That’s how it is with verbs. Hefty (strong) verbs can stand alone. Wimpy (weak) verbs need help – and should be tossed in one of those Hefty trash bags.
Let’s look at our example from Novel Helps Part III:
I went quickly to the store in the middle of the night on the dark and cold street. Porch lights went on and off, and I heard the zapping of bugs against the bulbs. I kept going despite my tiredness. The store closed in twenty minutes.
On way to identify weak verbs is to look for the tell-tale weak verb finder: adverbs. Adverbs (I’m talking here about adverbs that tell how something is done, particularly those ending in -ly) are like a neon sign when it comes to verbs; their entire job, as Angela Hunt says in her Nangie clinics, is to “prop up weak verbs.” You don’t need them if your verbs are strong. In the above paragraph, I see one adverb right away – quickly. Quickly modifies went. How can I write “went quickly” in one verb? Ran. Scurried. Skipped. Jogged. Hurried. Which verb I choose will depend on the feeling I’m trying to convey.
Next sentence. The verb is went. Went is also a weak verb, and on and off describes how the lights went. How can I “went on and off” in one verb? Flickered. Blinked. Pulsed.
Next sentence. The verb is heard. That’s fine. Then, after that, the verb phrase kept going. Wimpy. How can I write that in one verb? Continued. Persisted.
Now, the rewritten paragraph:
I hurried to the store in the middle of the night on the dark and cold street. Porch lights flickered, and I heard the zapping of bugs against the bulbs. I persisted despite my tiredness. The store closed in twenty minutes.
Better? I think so.
Use a thesaurus if need be, but with that I give a word of caution. Not every verb needs to be loud and showy. I didn’t change heard to detected or auscultated or perceived. Why? Because the hearing wasn’t what I wanted the reader to notice, but the sound, the zapping. Don’t let your verbs become a distraction.
Novel Helps Part III: The Plight of the Evil Wuzzes
I constantly tell my students to use an active voice in their writing, so much that they’ve dubbed this rule the “Evil Wuzzes” – as in, the plural of was. You’ve probably heard this hundreds of times if you’ve attended writers’ conferences, read books on writing, or worked through a writing program. But that’s because it does make your writing better.
Consider these two examples. First, loaded with wuzzes:
I was going quickly to the store in the middle of the night. The street was dark and cold. The porch lights were going on and off, and I could hear bugs being zapped against the bulbs. I was tired but needed to keep going. The store was closing in twenty minutes.
Now, after I’ve eliminated the passive voice:
I went quickly to the store in the middle of the night on the dark and cold street. Porch lights went on and off, and I heard the zapping of bugs against the bulbs. I kept going despite my tiredness. The store closed in twenty minutes.
Clearly, the pace of the writing in the second example is quicker, and the prose more interesting, even though both paragraphs say nearly the same thing. But notice that I couldn’t just swap active verbs for passive ones in all my sentences; some rearranging was necessary.
It can be difficult because we speak in the passive voice all the time. Naturally’ we’d tend to think that way, too. When I in writer’s mode, I try to make a conscience effort to think actively. Still, I will type a sentence or paragraph as it comes to me; if that includes wuzzes, fine. Then, I’ll go back and rewrite (usually that day, or the next; I don’t wait long), and make the necessary changes to eliminate the helping verbs. Anyone out there use First Language Lessons for the Well-Trained Mind? I can hear my son chanting:
Am *clap* is *clap* are, was, were *clap* be *clap* being *clap* been *clap clap* have, has, had *clap* do, does, did *clap* shall, will, should, would, may, might, must *clap* can, could!
That’s not to say there isn’t a place for the passive voice, particularly during introspective passages or inner monologues. Or, to draw attention to certain things in your writing. For example, in my novel, Home Another Way, I had a particular line where I wrote, It was Luke’s sweater Maggie wore. That could be easily changed to Maggie wore Luke’s sweater. But, in the second sentence, the focus is on Maggie. In the first, it’s on the sweater, which is where I wanted it to be.
I count my wuzzes per page. I do, really. I also make it a point not to have two wuzzes in the same sentence, or in consecutive sentences, unless absolutely necessary (I don’t have a concrete definition for absolutely necessary, of course – author’s discretion, and all that). If the writing feels stilted, the first thing I look for is passive voice. Does swapping some active verbs help?
