Patrick LeClerc's Blog, page 3
June 20, 2018
Walking the Tigh-Trope
Saw the new Deadpool movie recently. Loved it. Recently, I read a discussion about it, and one of the points brought up was the use of tropes and cliches, and was it enough to be self aware and hang a lampshade on the trope, or if it still counted as lazy writing. That got me thinking about tropes in general.
We’ve all heard that we should avoid cliches, and heard endless complaints about tired old tropes. And I’m sure we’ve all rolled our eyes when encountering the more worn out ones.
The thing is, they are almost impossible to avoid. Our storytelling tradition goes back a long way, and it’s hard to find something that hasn’t been used before. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, chances are Shakespeare already did it, and Homer probably did it before him.
I mean, what do Hercules, King Arthur, Frodo, Luke Skywalker and Harry Potter have in common? I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of the chosen one raised by a foster parent who has to go on the Hero’s Journey ™.
That doesn’t make it a bad thing. But we need to care about the Chosen One because he’s a compelling character. Write the character well, make us care. Don’t just assume we’ll take your word for it that this guy is kind of a big deal. I don’t care if he’s gonna be Darth Vader some day, when he whines about sand, I’m no longer impressed. Likewise, a hero can lose his family and move mountains to avenge them. But if I can see the expiration date on the wife in the first act, I’m rolling my eyes. Mentors can die, but, again, it has to make sense in the story.
Don’t use tropes like you’re following the assembly directions for Epic Fantasy by IKEA. Use them, but make us feel that it isn’t a trope. That it was the logical thing to happen.
So don’t worry about using an old, established theme. Worry about using it right.
We’ve all heard that we should avoid cliches, and heard endless complaints about tired old tropes. And I’m sure we’ve all rolled our eyes when encountering the more worn out ones.
The thing is, they are almost impossible to avoid. Our storytelling tradition goes back a long way, and it’s hard to find something that hasn’t been used before. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, chances are Shakespeare already did it, and Homer probably did it before him.
I mean, what do Hercules, King Arthur, Frodo, Luke Skywalker and Harry Potter have in common? I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of the chosen one raised by a foster parent who has to go on the Hero’s Journey ™.
That doesn’t make it a bad thing. But we need to care about the Chosen One because he’s a compelling character. Write the character well, make us care. Don’t just assume we’ll take your word for it that this guy is kind of a big deal. I don’t care if he’s gonna be Darth Vader some day, when he whines about sand, I’m no longer impressed. Likewise, a hero can lose his family and move mountains to avenge them. But if I can see the expiration date on the wife in the first act, I’m rolling my eyes. Mentors can die, but, again, it has to make sense in the story.
Don’t use tropes like you’re following the assembly directions for Epic Fantasy by IKEA. Use them, but make us feel that it isn’t a trope. That it was the logical thing to happen.
So don’t worry about using an old, established theme. Worry about using it right.
Patrick's Infantry Fantasy Camp
We constantly hear that we should write what we know. But there are plenty of things we don’t really know, but we write about anyway, like casting spells or space flight or fighting dragons. Now I’ve written before about ways to tap into your own experiences to add a feeling of authenticity to writing, but today I’m going to offer a much neglected service.
Plenty of books involve military situations, or if they don’t directly involve war and armed conflict, they feature characters who are veterans of conflict. Now there are lots of things you can do to try to get a feel for the experience of the character. You can go to a gun range so you can hear the report and smell the burnt powder and feel the recoil. You can know what it’s like to look through the back sight and line up on a target. You can try fencing or Kendo or HEMA style sword fighting if that fits your era, or any martial art to experience some level of trying to hit a guy who is trying not to be hit and hitting you back. You can play paint ball, and experience the thrill of hyperviolent hide and seek in the woods. You can do archery. You can go to re-enactments and museums. You can go camping so you can say you slept in a tent one time.
But these things miss a big part of the infantry experience. Mostly because these things are fun. There isn’t really a place that lets you experience the boring, terrifying, uncomfortable slog of the footsoldier, unless you are willing to sign four years of your life away.
Until now.
With just a few simple steps, you can, in the privacy of your own neighborhood, get the full grunt experience.
How, you ask?
Well, here are six easy steps.
1. Wait until the weather is lousy. This will depend on where you live. If you live in Florida, pick August. If you live in the northeast, wait for a rainy, chilly, raw day in– well, here in New Hampshire that can happen in like any one of ten months, but you get the idea. Maybe not January in Dakota because you will die and then you won’t finish your book.
2. Fill a backpack with stuff. Doesn’t really matter what, so long as it makes you grunt to lift it. Get some heavy boots. Cheap ones. Not L L Bean boots with gel inserts. Just work boots from Walmart. And a shovel. You will need a shovel. You’ll use it in Step 4, and the weight will help simulate a weapon, in case the local police aren’t too keen on you hiking the neighborhood with a real weapon.
3. Put on your pack, shoulder your shovel and take a long walk in the rain/sleet/snow/blazing sun. Like a really long walk. Now, you don’t need to actually simulate SEAL training, since plenty of us are too old and out of shape for that today, but it should be hard and miserable for you. Walk until you are breathing hard and your shirt is soaked through with sweat and your shoulders are chaffed from the packstraps and your feet have blisters and the boots feel like they are two surly toddlers clinging to your ankles trying to hold you back. Then turn around and march back to your house.
4. Dig a hole in the backyard. It should be deep enough that you can stand in it and just see over the lip.
5. Spend the weekend sleeping in the hole, eating bad food. MREs are perfect if you can get them, but they’re expensive, so cold Spaghettios or Dinty Moore Beef Stew are a good substitute for mid 20th Century C rations. If you want to go old school you need some biscuits so stale that you are worried that your teeth will break before the biscuit.
6. This is the most vital step. Find the sneakiest, most evil kid in the neighborhood. The one you are pretty sure will wind up in jail or a Republican Senate primary when he grows up. Promise him $50 if he can sneak into your yard and hit you with your shovel.
After spending a weekend filthy, sweating, freezing, wet, sore, tired, blistered, bored and exhausted, but too scared to sleep because some vicious little bastard is waiting in the dark to brain you with a shovel, you will have all the perspective you need to write any grunt from one of Caesar’s Legionnaires to Imperial Stormtroopers.
Plenty of books involve military situations, or if they don’t directly involve war and armed conflict, they feature characters who are veterans of conflict. Now there are lots of things you can do to try to get a feel for the experience of the character. You can go to a gun range so you can hear the report and smell the burnt powder and feel the recoil. You can know what it’s like to look through the back sight and line up on a target. You can try fencing or Kendo or HEMA style sword fighting if that fits your era, or any martial art to experience some level of trying to hit a guy who is trying not to be hit and hitting you back. You can play paint ball, and experience the thrill of hyperviolent hide and seek in the woods. You can do archery. You can go to re-enactments and museums. You can go camping so you can say you slept in a tent one time.
But these things miss a big part of the infantry experience. Mostly because these things are fun. There isn’t really a place that lets you experience the boring, terrifying, uncomfortable slog of the footsoldier, unless you are willing to sign four years of your life away.
Until now.
With just a few simple steps, you can, in the privacy of your own neighborhood, get the full grunt experience.
How, you ask?
Well, here are six easy steps.
1. Wait until the weather is lousy. This will depend on where you live. If you live in Florida, pick August. If you live in the northeast, wait for a rainy, chilly, raw day in– well, here in New Hampshire that can happen in like any one of ten months, but you get the idea. Maybe not January in Dakota because you will die and then you won’t finish your book.
2. Fill a backpack with stuff. Doesn’t really matter what, so long as it makes you grunt to lift it. Get some heavy boots. Cheap ones. Not L L Bean boots with gel inserts. Just work boots from Walmart. And a shovel. You will need a shovel. You’ll use it in Step 4, and the weight will help simulate a weapon, in case the local police aren’t too keen on you hiking the neighborhood with a real weapon.
3. Put on your pack, shoulder your shovel and take a long walk in the rain/sleet/snow/blazing sun. Like a really long walk. Now, you don’t need to actually simulate SEAL training, since plenty of us are too old and out of shape for that today, but it should be hard and miserable for you. Walk until you are breathing hard and your shirt is soaked through with sweat and your shoulders are chaffed from the packstraps and your feet have blisters and the boots feel like they are two surly toddlers clinging to your ankles trying to hold you back. Then turn around and march back to your house.
4. Dig a hole in the backyard. It should be deep enough that you can stand in it and just see over the lip.
5. Spend the weekend sleeping in the hole, eating bad food. MREs are perfect if you can get them, but they’re expensive, so cold Spaghettios or Dinty Moore Beef Stew are a good substitute for mid 20th Century C rations. If you want to go old school you need some biscuits so stale that you are worried that your teeth will break before the biscuit.
6. This is the most vital step. Find the sneakiest, most evil kid in the neighborhood. The one you are pretty sure will wind up in jail or a Republican Senate primary when he grows up. Promise him $50 if he can sneak into your yard and hit you with your shovel.
After spending a weekend filthy, sweating, freezing, wet, sore, tired, blistered, bored and exhausted, but too scared to sleep because some vicious little bastard is waiting in the dark to brain you with a shovel, you will have all the perspective you need to write any grunt from one of Caesar’s Legionnaires to Imperial Stormtroopers.
Watching the Sausage Being Made
Every book began with a first draft. And they were all flawed, riddled with typos, plot holes, cliches, and bad ideas.
Even the greats. Even your favorites.
Every once in a while you can find early drafts of big, important books, and they are almost always terrible. Sometimes they can offer insight into the creative process of the author, which can be interesting, but is not for the faint of heart.
Working with a writers' group, you read a lot of early drafts, and subject your fellow writers to a lot of yours. That’s why it’s easier to work in a group with some reciprocity. It’s easier to let people see your ugly process if you’ve seen theirs. You will feel naked and exposed, but so will they. It’s like a less sexy but no less intimate version of lovemaking.
To further extend the metaphor, writing tends to be more rewarding the more you sweat.
So if you are reading early drafts, or producing your own and asking others to look at them, understand the feeling of vulnerability, leaving yourself open, being naked in front of a crowd. But understand that this is how all writers feel, and everybody’s early draft needs work.
I’ll leave you with the words of two literary giants:
Ernest Hemingway, who reassured a new writer that “the first draft of anything is shit,” and Canada’s poet laureate Red Green, who tells us “Just remember. I’m pulling for you. We’re all in this together.”
Even the greats. Even your favorites.
Every once in a while you can find early drafts of big, important books, and they are almost always terrible. Sometimes they can offer insight into the creative process of the author, which can be interesting, but is not for the faint of heart.
Working with a writers' group, you read a lot of early drafts, and subject your fellow writers to a lot of yours. That’s why it’s easier to work in a group with some reciprocity. It’s easier to let people see your ugly process if you’ve seen theirs. You will feel naked and exposed, but so will they. It’s like a less sexy but no less intimate version of lovemaking.
To further extend the metaphor, writing tends to be more rewarding the more you sweat.
So if you are reading early drafts, or producing your own and asking others to look at them, understand the feeling of vulnerability, leaving yourself open, being naked in front of a crowd. But understand that this is how all writers feel, and everybody’s early draft needs work.
I’ll leave you with the words of two literary giants:
Ernest Hemingway, who reassured a new writer that “the first draft of anything is shit,” and Canada’s poet laureate Red Green, who tells us “Just remember. I’m pulling for you. We’re all in this together.”
It's Always Personal
In fiction, as in life, it’s important to distinguish the motivations of the individual from those of the organization to which that individual belongs.
This isn’t about good and evil, nor is it trying to make apologies. It’s just about recognizing the messiness of human beings that we put in our books.
I had a conversation a few years back at ReaderCon with somebody who didn’t like Firefly. That alone doesn’t make somebody a bad person. But I grappled with the reasoning. Firefly is pretty much a Western in space. The main characters are veterans of the losing side of a rebellion, so the parallel to them being ex-Confederates headed to the frontier to get away from Union authority is an easy one to make. That parallel exists historically, as plenty of defeated Confederates fled west to make a new life after their old one was destroyed. It’s also a trope of classic Westerns, where former Rebels fit the bill for a rootless, lone drifter.
So the idea that Mal and Zoe are ex-Space Confederates isn’t a hard leap to make, considering the clear parallels. The idea of a protagonist who had fought for slavery (even as an abstract parallel) bothered this person.
OK, maybe it’s a stretch for Mal Reynolds, who never pined for the days of space plantations, and owning space slaves who picked space cotton, but John Wayne’s character in The Searchers is a real ex-Confederate, and he gets to be a protagonist, so there is a case to be made.
Now, there’s a lot to unpack here, but I think it’s important we do.
First, in s/f, when you take inspiration from something, you carry some of the baggage. The Empire are pretty much Space Nazis, with the almost Third Reich uniforms and cold cruelty and oppression, and obsession with super weapons. They even call the soldiers Storm Troopers, which is what we in the history biz call a dead giveaway. So even if they aren’t actually Nazis, they feel like Nazis and it’s hard to sympathize with Imperial characters without feeling like you’re cutting the Nazis some slack.
Don’t cut Nazis slack. Just don’t.
As far as the Confederacy goes, we have to admit that it was formed because of slavery, and seceded from the Union over the question of slavery, and fought a war to preserve the institution of slavery. It’s right there in the writings of Confederate founders. In fact, the first 80 years of US politics was dominated by the question of slavery, whether or not it could be expanded into new territories and whether slaves who made it to free states could be returned. Slavery is the reason that states were admitted in pairs mostly, so that neither slave states or free states would have a majority that might pass laws that would tear the Union apart. Look at the Missouri Compromise, the Kansas Nebraska Act, the Fugitive Slave Act, the Dred Scott decision, all of it.
So, yeah, the South fought for the right to keep humans in bondage. You can’t argue against that with any credibility.
But the individual soldiers who did the fighting and the dying chose to do so for a thousand reasons.
Some fought on the side of their home state. I understand the desire not to shoot at your friends and neighbors and burn their crops. A lot of loyalty is just related to where you happen to be standing. Some fought for personal honor, to show courage, to go on the great adventure. Some, I’m sure, felt they were fighting for their freedom and rights, even if those rights included depriving others of their own rights.
Likewise, the troops in blue fought for as many reasons. Some were motivated by a desire to free the slaves. Some wanted to preserve the Union. Lincoln himself said he would welcome the south back “with all its slaves in chains” if he could restore the Union. Some, recruited in poverty in Ireland, fought for a new life for their own families.
Where I’m going with this is: an organization or a government may have a motivation. But that isn’t necessarily the motivation for everyone who serves that organization.
So give your characters, even your antagonists, a motivation of their own, separate from that of their master. Just because someone is on the wrong side doesn’t mean they don’t have their reasons for being there.
Just so long as you don’t cut Nazis any slack.
This isn’t about good and evil, nor is it trying to make apologies. It’s just about recognizing the messiness of human beings that we put in our books.
I had a conversation a few years back at ReaderCon with somebody who didn’t like Firefly. That alone doesn’t make somebody a bad person. But I grappled with the reasoning. Firefly is pretty much a Western in space. The main characters are veterans of the losing side of a rebellion, so the parallel to them being ex-Confederates headed to the frontier to get away from Union authority is an easy one to make. That parallel exists historically, as plenty of defeated Confederates fled west to make a new life after their old one was destroyed. It’s also a trope of classic Westerns, where former Rebels fit the bill for a rootless, lone drifter.
So the idea that Mal and Zoe are ex-Space Confederates isn’t a hard leap to make, considering the clear parallels. The idea of a protagonist who had fought for slavery (even as an abstract parallel) bothered this person.
OK, maybe it’s a stretch for Mal Reynolds, who never pined for the days of space plantations, and owning space slaves who picked space cotton, but John Wayne’s character in The Searchers is a real ex-Confederate, and he gets to be a protagonist, so there is a case to be made.
Now, there’s a lot to unpack here, but I think it’s important we do.
First, in s/f, when you take inspiration from something, you carry some of the baggage. The Empire are pretty much Space Nazis, with the almost Third Reich uniforms and cold cruelty and oppression, and obsession with super weapons. They even call the soldiers Storm Troopers, which is what we in the history biz call a dead giveaway. So even if they aren’t actually Nazis, they feel like Nazis and it’s hard to sympathize with Imperial characters without feeling like you’re cutting the Nazis some slack.
Don’t cut Nazis slack. Just don’t.
As far as the Confederacy goes, we have to admit that it was formed because of slavery, and seceded from the Union over the question of slavery, and fought a war to preserve the institution of slavery. It’s right there in the writings of Confederate founders. In fact, the first 80 years of US politics was dominated by the question of slavery, whether or not it could be expanded into new territories and whether slaves who made it to free states could be returned. Slavery is the reason that states were admitted in pairs mostly, so that neither slave states or free states would have a majority that might pass laws that would tear the Union apart. Look at the Missouri Compromise, the Kansas Nebraska Act, the Fugitive Slave Act, the Dred Scott decision, all of it.
So, yeah, the South fought for the right to keep humans in bondage. You can’t argue against that with any credibility.
But the individual soldiers who did the fighting and the dying chose to do so for a thousand reasons.
Some fought on the side of their home state. I understand the desire not to shoot at your friends and neighbors and burn their crops. A lot of loyalty is just related to where you happen to be standing. Some fought for personal honor, to show courage, to go on the great adventure. Some, I’m sure, felt they were fighting for their freedom and rights, even if those rights included depriving others of their own rights.
Likewise, the troops in blue fought for as many reasons. Some were motivated by a desire to free the slaves. Some wanted to preserve the Union. Lincoln himself said he would welcome the south back “with all its slaves in chains” if he could restore the Union. Some, recruited in poverty in Ireland, fought for a new life for their own families.
Where I’m going with this is: an organization or a government may have a motivation. But that isn’t necessarily the motivation for everyone who serves that organization.
So give your characters, even your antagonists, a motivation of their own, separate from that of their master. Just because someone is on the wrong side doesn’t mean they don’t have their reasons for being there.
Just so long as you don’t cut Nazis any slack.
Genre Bendre
If there’s one thing agents and marketers hate, it’s a book or movie that doesn’t have a clear genre. It’s simple to market a fantasy, just slap a half naked barbarian and a dragon on the cover. Science fiction just needs a rocket ship or a robot, romance just needs a woman with spectacular cleavage swooning in the arms of a shirtless man.
The marketing is easy, the audience is obvious, everybody knows what to expect.
But the story that doesn’t quite fit into a clear category is tough. Ads and pitches and covers have to sell it in a very limited space, so conveying a lot of nuance isn’t really easy.
But you know who loves stories that don’t fit easily into the pigeonholes?
The public.
Firefly is a western, but in space and with some classic s/f thread woven through. Alien was just a horror movie on a space ship. Star Wars, which may be the most universally known piece of pop culture from the past fifty years, could have been subtitled “Everything Cool From Lucas’ Childhood.” It was pretty much as mashup of Flash Gordon, westerns, samurai movies and high fantasy, with a dash of Midway and The Dam Busters thrown in. Glen Cook’s Garrett, PI series is straight Raymond Chandler in a fantasy setting. My friend Kevin Wright has written what may be the definitive Post-Apocalyptic Hindu Steampunk Detective Noir in The Clarity of Cold Steel which you should buy right now before the genre gets too saturated.
As lovers of stories, we devour these hybrids.
My point is that, as a writer, you will be told to pick a genre. Mostly by marketing people for marketing purposes. But if you want to write a historical romantic comedy set during the Potato Famine, all I have to say is:
Shine on, you crazy diamond.
The marketing is easy, the audience is obvious, everybody knows what to expect.
But the story that doesn’t quite fit into a clear category is tough. Ads and pitches and covers have to sell it in a very limited space, so conveying a lot of nuance isn’t really easy.
But you know who loves stories that don’t fit easily into the pigeonholes?
The public.
Firefly is a western, but in space and with some classic s/f thread woven through. Alien was just a horror movie on a space ship. Star Wars, which may be the most universally known piece of pop culture from the past fifty years, could have been subtitled “Everything Cool From Lucas’ Childhood.” It was pretty much as mashup of Flash Gordon, westerns, samurai movies and high fantasy, with a dash of Midway and The Dam Busters thrown in. Glen Cook’s Garrett, PI series is straight Raymond Chandler in a fantasy setting. My friend Kevin Wright has written what may be the definitive Post-Apocalyptic Hindu Steampunk Detective Noir in The Clarity of Cold Steel which you should buy right now before the genre gets too saturated.
As lovers of stories, we devour these hybrids.
My point is that, as a writer, you will be told to pick a genre. Mostly by marketing people for marketing purposes. But if you want to write a historical romantic comedy set during the Potato Famine, all I have to say is:
Shine on, you crazy diamond.
January 12, 2018
Embrace Your Voice
The thing that makes me fall in love with an author is the voice. The way that a writer uses language, chooses the words and the pace and the tone. If I like the voice, I’ll read about the characters doing their taxes. Plenty of writing sites and lots of writing advice will try to […]
The Only Rule That Matters
There is a ton of advice for the aspiring writer. You used to have to take a class or buy a copy of Writers Digest to be talked down to, but now that we have an internet, it’s everywhere. And lots of it is in the form of lists of “rules for writers” or “nine […]
December 13, 2017
Your Princess is in Another Castle
Over the past few months, I’ve talked about heroes and villains. While they are important, most of us have a pretty good idea of what makes a memorable one, and most writers get there eventually. What fewer get right is the Love Interest. Here, our familiarity with stories and the most common tropes and shorthand […]
October 28, 2017
The Fall of the Empire
So, this happened. For those of you too lazy to click the link, I’ll provide some background. The s/f cartoon Rick and Morty made a craving for McDonald’s discontinued Szechuan Dipping Sauce into a thing. It was a joke on the show, and as happens so often in geek culture, it became a huge thing […]
September 23, 2017
The Devil's in the Details
Specifically, how much detail. How much detail and description you put into your writing is a decision that will profoundly affect the way you story reads. Too little and the world and characters become flat and generic, too much can bog down the whole thing, sacrificing pace and readability for the sake of a more painstakingly drawn scene.
Description, where the detail tends to live, is pretty much by definition not action or dialogue or character development, and doesn’t move the plot. It can tell us about the world or the characters, but so can the voice, the speech, the actions and attitudes your characters express. A certain amount is helpful to set a scene, particularly in science fiction or fantasy, where you want to show the reader that the world of your story isn’t the world we’re used to. Strange planets or alien species or speculative technology or magic might call out for a bit of explanation. That said, most readers fall in love with the characters and their story more than the setting, and you don’t want them to bog down and lose interest. You need to be honest with yourself and admit that you probably find the gritty details of your world more fascinating than everyone else does.
It’s kind of the way my kid’s act in the school talent show was adorable and precious and needed to be recorded and shown to all my friends but the rest of the night was a slog to get through.
I think the best writers don’t dump vast swathes of descriptive pose onto the reader. They break it up and dribble and sprinkle it into the story.
Another good guideline on how much detail to put in, especially if you aren’t working in a wholly fictional setting, is that it is better to be vague than wrong.
If somebody walks into a store, pulls out a gun and demands the contents of the cash register, readers will run with that. If you write that the robber pulled out a nickle plated Smith and Wesson .44 caliber revolver, you need to get that right. Take a few minutes and make sure Smith and Wesson makes a nickle plated .44, make sure you know how many rounds it holds, how big and heavy it is. The world is full of people who know about these things, and if you have the guy pull the gun out of his watch pocket, fire ten rounds then drop the magazine, people who know you can do none of those things with the weapon you described will be wrenched out of the moment. Don’t say a character used to be a sergeant in the Navy, because there are lots of people who know that the Navy doesn’t have sergeants. Don’t have the medic give somebody 100 milligrams of morphine to take the edge off after he breaks an ankle because that dose is only appropriate if he weighs 2200 pounds. The same thing goes for any profession or tool or historical event.
With the internet out your fingertips, it’s easy to check things with a quick search, so you can get stuff right. But if you don’t want to do your due diligence, be vague. The man pulled a gun. The police officer had been in the Navy. The medic gave him something for the pain. Vague is OK, especially if your point of view character isn’t an expert in the field you’re describing, but being factually wrong will break immersion for readers who spot the error.
Detail in fiction is like spice in cooking. Too little and it can be bland, too much can overwhelm. Writers and reader have different tastes and preferences on how much is enough. Melville and Hemingway both wrote stories about a man’s epic battle with a creature of the ocean, but Moby Dick is groaning with description while the description in The Old Man and the Sea is sparse and simple
And an incorrect detail is like grabbing the salt when you wanted sugar.
Properly applied, details can add richness and texture to your story. Just don’t weigh it down too much to move, and for the love of Bradbury, don’t put in the wrong ones.
Description, where the detail tends to live, is pretty much by definition not action or dialogue or character development, and doesn’t move the plot. It can tell us about the world or the characters, but so can the voice, the speech, the actions and attitudes your characters express. A certain amount is helpful to set a scene, particularly in science fiction or fantasy, where you want to show the reader that the world of your story isn’t the world we’re used to. Strange planets or alien species or speculative technology or magic might call out for a bit of explanation. That said, most readers fall in love with the characters and their story more than the setting, and you don’t want them to bog down and lose interest. You need to be honest with yourself and admit that you probably find the gritty details of your world more fascinating than everyone else does.
It’s kind of the way my kid’s act in the school talent show was adorable and precious and needed to be recorded and shown to all my friends but the rest of the night was a slog to get through.
I think the best writers don’t dump vast swathes of descriptive pose onto the reader. They break it up and dribble and sprinkle it into the story.
Another good guideline on how much detail to put in, especially if you aren’t working in a wholly fictional setting, is that it is better to be vague than wrong.
If somebody walks into a store, pulls out a gun and demands the contents of the cash register, readers will run with that. If you write that the robber pulled out a nickle plated Smith and Wesson .44 caliber revolver, you need to get that right. Take a few minutes and make sure Smith and Wesson makes a nickle plated .44, make sure you know how many rounds it holds, how big and heavy it is. The world is full of people who know about these things, and if you have the guy pull the gun out of his watch pocket, fire ten rounds then drop the magazine, people who know you can do none of those things with the weapon you described will be wrenched out of the moment. Don’t say a character used to be a sergeant in the Navy, because there are lots of people who know that the Navy doesn’t have sergeants. Don’t have the medic give somebody 100 milligrams of morphine to take the edge off after he breaks an ankle because that dose is only appropriate if he weighs 2200 pounds. The same thing goes for any profession or tool or historical event.
With the internet out your fingertips, it’s easy to check things with a quick search, so you can get stuff right. But if you don’t want to do your due diligence, be vague. The man pulled a gun. The police officer had been in the Navy. The medic gave him something for the pain. Vague is OK, especially if your point of view character isn’t an expert in the field you’re describing, but being factually wrong will break immersion for readers who spot the error.
Detail in fiction is like spice in cooking. Too little and it can be bland, too much can overwhelm. Writers and reader have different tastes and preferences on how much is enough. Melville and Hemingway both wrote stories about a man’s epic battle with a creature of the ocean, but Moby Dick is groaning with description while the description in The Old Man and the Sea is sparse and simple
And an incorrect detail is like grabbing the salt when you wanted sugar.
Properly applied, details can add richness and texture to your story. Just don’t weigh it down too much to move, and for the love of Bradbury, don’t put in the wrong ones.
