Probably the most widespread shortcoming to be found in fiction manuscripts by writers ranging from the first-timer to the previously published is a tendency to describe the story’s action rather than depict it.  It is a mantra we’ve all heard, going back to junior high school composition class: “Show, don’t tell.” Whereas there are some nuggets of bedrock writing advice that can be selectively jettisoned by the experienced writer (For example: “Use active verbs, not passive ones.” Fundamentally this is true — and a good habit for a writer to cultivate when s/he is starting out — but in the hands of a practiced writer a well-placed passive verb can evoke in the sensitive reader a mood, tone, or other desired psychological response that otherwise can be very hard to come by.), the showing-telling thing is not among them. (By the way, in no writing genre does “Show, don’t tell” come more into play than in screenwriting, in which every ounce of plot and character development must be rendered as some sort of “action” — this because the manuscript is efficiently structured for translation to a visual medium.) What “showing, not telling” generally means for a writer is the kind of self-conscious, deliberative creative toil that, in the end, makes a writer a writer. In a nutshell, a writer must analyze the message s/he wants to convey, then devise (make up) an appropriate scene that is unique to the story that will effectively convey the message. For instance, instead of writing, “Nicole grew jealous at the very thought of Stella,” a writer might write,

“Who was that on the phone?” said Nicole. Richard pretended not to hear her. Stella. Nicole’s eyes burned with familiar scorn.

What makes showing — in other words, vividly described action — so much more effective than telling is it engages the reader on a psychological level, which resonates and makes for an emotional reading experience. On the other hand, being told something remains more of an intellectual experience, which, generally speaking, is not the sort of impact a piece of fiction should aim for. When it comes to fiction, a writer’s chief goal should be to sustain the seamless illusion that is the fictional world of the story, and to do that it is necessary to plumb the depths of creativity in order to satisfy the objective imagination of the only person a writer should be concerned with: his/her reader.

It had to happen. Despite swearing I would have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the age of text messaging and headset earpieces (to this day I eschew both technologies — because I am a curmudgeon when it comes to trend), it was inevitable that even someone as resistant to jumping on bandwagons as I am sooner or later would be swept up into something as addictively accessible and downright writerly as the blogosphere. The seed that eventually took root (in the form of what you are looking at now) was planted by my wife, who started a blog following the birth of our son. On many a night, after we had put Sam to bed and I was in the living room tying up loose ends on a client’s manuscript (text messaging and earpieces = bad; wifi = good) or simply relaxing, I would sense a calm settle over the house, something that could almost be described as a shift in the density of the domestic air the three of us share. Had my wife gone to bed without saying goodnight? Then I would hear her purposeful, inspired strokes on the keyboard coming from her office, and I knew she was in that place that was all her own. I grew envious of her blogging time, her chance to sit and organize her thoughts in a meaningful and encouraging way for an audience at once wide-ranging and specific. So when it came time to revamp my website and I was asked to concoct the various contents, a blog page seemed a perfect, if not obvious, inclusion. Over the coming weeks I intend to add posts that discuss my sweeping and detailed views on writers, books, publishing, and trends(!) in editing. To this point, my clients, wife, and close friends have been the (sometimes unwitting) receptacles of my rampant opinions on language and writing; now I can subject all of cyberspace to them. It remains to be seen whether or not cyberspace winds up a better place because of it.