Writers: I Need Your Attention Please...

[-Carlos-]

I need some advice on how to make my writing breathe - to create a comfortable rhythm all the way through my stories. Currently my writing is too compressed, too tight. The words cram up together and it is of no comfort to the reader. Here is a brief example:

At its zenith the sun blazed scalding waves of humid fire. The traffic, a parking lot of choking smoke, horns, and construction detour signs, filled his weary sight. A vagrant, with a cardboard sign and a paper cup, began his round of pleads a few cars up the street.

Don't you see the words stack against each other making the flow of words, if can call it that, cumbersome for the reader? Capote and Hemingway had an economy of words that ran beautifully together, like music. They said much with just a little - unlike (very unlike) my own writing.

What advice, if any, can you grant me in order to achieve a more natural way of writing? I really appreciate your input.

 

[Stewart]

I'd first begin by cutting out the purple prose. All this at its zenith and scalding waves of humid fire says nothing. Take all that out and you are left with: The sun blazed. It's good, a simple, declarative sentence, and it gets the idea across. I would, however, choose a word that sounds more interesting or unique as we would expect the sun to blaze.

Then there's the next sentence. You are talking about things in his sight. I doubt he can see horns. Also, a parking lot of choking smoke doesn't sound right - it creates, to me, an image of a low-hanging cloud sitting there on its own. I presume it's spurting from car exhausts. And then there's the phrase construction detour signs - two things spring to mind: a) do you need to be so precise? Would road signs not suffice? and b) on their own they sound dull, so characterise them (i.e. a regiment of road signs). One final mention I would say is not reference his sight but instead make mention that it stands before him, etc.

Final sentence: I suppose the lesson here is why use so many words when one will do? His round of pleads, while not having a ring to it anyway, can be reduced to a choice word, be it begging or canvassing, etc. It all depends on what suits.

 

[ProfessorMarvel]

Use plain words instead of fancy words. Feel the heat. Be there. Get metaphorical. Always: What is the purpose of this scene to the meaning of the narrative? Focus on the key thing you want to show. Is it the sun? I doubt it. Is it the traffic jam? Nah. Construction signs? Pffft. The key thing is the beggar's suffering. Become one with the beggar and the vision will roll out. (Well, after you sweat blood and pace up and down and rewrite it a about a hundred times, anyway.)

And the number of details is much less important that the choice of details. Chekov once described an alley by mentioning how moonlight glinted off broken glass.

 

[Stewart]

And the number of details is much less important that the choice of details.

Can't argue with that. Too true.

 

[-Carlos-]

Boy what truly valuable replies! You both are dead-on. I give you both a hearty thank you. That's great stuff guys.

 

[silverseason]

One of the reasons I love using a word processor is so that I can write in a flow of words, then go back and delete what doesn't belong there or which obstructs the text.

The best advice in Strunk and White's The Elements of Style is "Omit unnecessary words."

 

[Janet H]

Try saying it out load. Use alliteration to give it punch, but use it sparingly.

Searing sun at midday
Beggars Board

At its zenith the sun blazed scalding waves of humid fire. The traffic, a parking lot of choking smoke, horns, and construction detour signs, filled his weary sight. A vagrant, with a cardboard sign and a paper cup, began his round of pleads a few cars up the street.

 

[eyez0nme]

The sun blazed on the choking traffic. Cars honked. Exhaust fumes billowed. Engines roared, then screeched to a halt, forced to cruise at five miles-per-hour. Inside the glinting, a hundred thirty degrees carbon-fiber, Frank Darby screamed in a hoarse voice at the driver in front of him.

"Move your slow ass you fucking cunt!"

Just then, a begger weaved in and out of traffic, holding a paper cup--and, in the other, a sign that read: Need money to fund my alcoholic tuition.

 

[eyez0nme]

Here is the rest:

Class was boring. One didn't need to know the square root of pie or the algebraic expression to figure this out, Amanda could cut straight through the mess with a fucking calculator.

BORING. It flashed in the LED screen. BORING. >>>>>>CALL YOUR BOYFRIEND. TEXT MESSAGE HIM. GET THE HELL OUT OF THIS SHIT-HOLE><<<<<

The lecturer’s dull monotone rang in her head like a dead weight, making her muscles numb and her brain lag. Her eyes darted around the room, twitching, settling on businessmen in suits and zimmerman ties sitting off to one side.

What were they? Did they plan to go to Harvard? Fucking nerds... although...

The boy on the left was kind of cute. Amanda dreamed of falling onto his lap, accidently, and seducing those bronze thighs, raising his oily snakehead like a sign post. She stared at him like outstretched hands, fingers slipping into her own panties, caressing her rosy inner folds and loose lips, rubbing, grinding, bucking...

God, she thought, and stiffled a moan.