Category Archives: Writing

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Nix the Modifiers! A Writing Exercise

St. Augustine Florida

If you have a creative writing bent, I have a challenge for you. Write a descriptive paragraph without any adjectives or adverbs. (Adjectives are words that describe nouns, “red” and “big.” Adverbs modify verbs, adjectives, and other adverbs and often end in “ly,” “steadily” and “quietly.”)

I have a love-hate relationship with this exercise. I love it because it forces me to write with the utmost care, to improve, but I hate it because it’s so much easier to be lazy and let all the descriptors do the work for me. I was introduced to this method in my fiction workshop days (thanks, Ari), and I just prayed that I wouldn’t be the one who got picked to read her work aloud.

If you’ve ever been in a writing class, you’re familiar with the instruction to “show, don’t tell,” and although adjectives and adverbs aren’t necessarily of the devil, if you’re not careful, they contribute to “telling” writing. It’s easy to say, “She was mad.” It’s much harder to describe someone who is mad and let the reader draw the conclusion him- or herself.

It is difficult, not to mention time-consuming to write something without any adjectives or adverbs—especially when you realize that helpful transitional words such as “now,” “most,” “always,” and “never” are on the list. If forced to think creatively, however, a writer can describe with carefully chosen nouns and verbs. For instance, instead of writing “swimsuit,” use “bikini” or “Speedo.” Or try “mom-jeans” or “bellbottoms” instead of “pants.” You get a better visual, don’t you?

Below are three examples of what a student could write in a “what I did this summer” kind of assignment. (Hint-hint, teachers—this is a way to make them really hate you!) The first is chock-full of modifiers. The second is devoid of a single one. Once you’re able to write a descriptive sentence or two without any adjectives or adverbs, you’re ready to selectively (ah—there’s a useful adverb!) add them again, and that’s what I’ve done in the third case. See what you think. . . and take on the challenge if you dare.

 

Adjectives and Adverbs Galore:

Now that we’re back from vacation, I’ve swapped stories with my friends. While many of them spent their summers driving the winding roads through the mountains, sipping iced tea on quaint porches in New England, or voyaging abroad through the much more comfortable or—let’s face it—often chilly terrains of England, Ireland, France, and Spain, I had a good old-fashioned staycation, right here on the southeast coast of the United States. With my trusty, lemonade-filled red cooler, my favorite, polka-dotted beach towel, a ridiculously huge beach umbrella, and not a few novels from my to-read list, I lived the Floridian lifestyle to the fullest, throwing in a trip to St. Augustine (good art galleries, shopping, plus a history lesson or three), and even a trip down to theme-park central, Orlando. I visited my favorite childhood haunt, Disney World, as well as Universal Islands of Adventure, washing the heat away with a refreshing mug of butterbeer. Alas, all good things must come to an end—at least temporarily—because we’re back to school again. I sit inside, looking out upon a world that will most likely continue to be scorching hot for another couple months, savoring the sweet memories of warm sand between my toes and tart, thirst-quenching sips of lemonade while reading for myself and no one else.

 

Almost As Sparse as It Gets:

Back from vacation, I’ve swapped stories with friends who traveled to the mountains, New England, and Europe. I could be jealous, considering I didn’t set foot out of Florida. Despite the heat, however, I enjoyed my summer at home. Armed with my cooler, towel, umbrella, and books, I soaked up the sun—and novels—at the beach. I did wander out of town upon occasion—to St. Augustine (art, shopping, and history), Disney World (revisiting my childhood), and Universal Islands of Adventure (butterbeer, hurray!). School brought us back. I sit inside, looking out on a world that will be hot into the fall, but I savor my memories—of sand between my toes, a cooler full of lemonade. . . and books.

 

Something a Little in Between:

Upon returning from summer vacation, my friends and I swapped stories. Many of them traveled to places much cooler than here, from the mountains to New England and even Europe. I could be jealous, but I really did enjoy my staycation, hot as it was. Armed with my lemonade-filled cooler, favorite beach towel, enormous umbrella, and a number of books from my to-read list, I spend most of my days at the beach. There were a handful of mini-trips, including St. Augustine (shopping, art appreciation, and history all rolled into one), Disney World (tapping my inner child), and Universal Islands of Adventure (my first taste of butterbeer). Too soon, though, we’re back at school, looking out on a world that will only cool slightly before October. I will savor my memories, however, of sand between my toes, the tart refreshment of lemonade, and my fill of fiction.

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Sometimes I Like to Be a Wee Bit British

English: British versions of the Harry Potter ...

Bloomsbury editions of the Harry Potter series

When my husband and I saw the movie The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, we joked that if we ever had a daughter, we’d have to teach her to speak with a British accent because Lucy Pevensie was just so darn cute. As fate would have it, we had two boys instead, so I guess we’ll never know if we would have stuck to the plan. But there are still many things British that we love.

We’re Harry Potter geeks, so much so, in fact, that when I found that some of the language was Americanized in the Scholastic editions, I searched far and wide and finally purchased the Bloomsbury (British) editions of all seven books. There’s something about reading the words the way J.K. Rowling wrote them (not to mention that the title of the first book was changed in the American version) that makes me feel like I’m getting a more authentic experience.

I have to extend my love to the entire United Kingdom. I recently saw Disney Pixar’s Brave, and anything with bagpipes stirs my soul. (And I still say that real men wear kilts.) Being Presbyterian, I am Scottish by denomination, although my heritage is mostly Irish.

I guess the biggest give-aways about my occasional British affinity are a couple spelling choices that I make. I cannot make myself write “gray” or “theater,” unless, of course, those spellings are used in proper nouns. I’m more of a “grey” and “theatre” kind of girl. I can’t ever remember a time when I chose to write these words the preferred American way, nor did any teachers ever try to correct me—nor should they. I suppose I’m inconsistent, since I still write “color” and “labor” instead of adding the optional “u,” but I’m not the only one out there doing these kinds of things, am I? Come on, somebody, admit you like to break out of the mold a little, too. (And not capitalizing doesn’t count! e.e. cummings already took that one.)

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Apparently, I Have A Conflicted Personality

They say you write what you know.

Well, maybe not you specifically, but I know I’m guilty.

I can’t help turning my life into stories. There I am, walking along, minding my own business, when I realize I’m narrating what I’m doing. But instead of carrying a bag of groceries into my condo, maybe I’m a World War II nurse with an armful of gauze and blankets for my patients. Or maybe the phone rings in the middle of the night. It’s someone dialing the wrong number, but I can’t help wondering, What if that had been the call that no one wants to receive, that something terrible happened to a loved one?

Years ago, that very situation happened, and instead of going back to sleep, I lay awake all night, constructing a new story. I built it around what might have happened. Since the catalyst was something that actually happened to me, it was hard not to give the main character some of my own attributes. Sure, I made her older, gave her a different job, changed her appearance, let her live in my dream house, but to take it from a theoretical “what if” to the story I’d imagined, the main character turned out a lot like me.

I decided to workshop my story, and according to the class rules, I was not allowed to say one word during the reading or subsequent critique. I’d been through the process several times before, so I was over how unnerving it feels to have my story alternately praised and criticized with me sitting right there, helpless to answer any questions or defend myself.

My fellow workshoppers started talking about the character. She was too needy, they said, and there was no way she could be A and B, when she was so obviously P and Q, as well as Y and Z. She was conflicted—how on Earth could a person like her exist? Part of me wanted to laugh, and another part was dying to defend her—because I was A,B, P, Q, Y, Z, and every letter in between. Of course she was real because she was mostly me! But I certainly wasn’t needy. . . they’d gotten that part wrong. (Gulp—am I needy?)

Since then, when other English majors I know complain about how they hate math or just can’t get organized or don’t understand other kinds of artists, I smile and remember that I shouldn’t be able to do those things either. After all, my type of personality isn’t supposed to exist. But somehow I got creativity and organizational skills from both parents, a talent for spotting typos a mile away from my mother, and a math brain from my father (and his mother before him). If asked about my favorite pastimes, I’d be hard-pressed to put my top four in order of importance, but alphabetically, they are as follows: bookkeeping, reading, singing, and writing. Yep, that was bookkeeping on the list. I also love editing (sometimes I have more fun editing something I’ve written than actually writing it to begin with), but I lump that in with writing.

It makes me think that, while I don’t know any other Sarah Cotchaleovitches, certainly there are other “conflicted” personalities out there. Come on, admit it—you are, too, aren’t you?