Every novelist has heard the mantra from Day 1. “Good writing is rich with detail.” And this is true.
But indiscriminate, exhaustive attention to every possible detail is like an overdose of sugar: too much of a good thing. The reader experiences a confused frenzy of images, then nods out.
What’s missing from the mantra is how to make richness of detail be all that it should be, and for that you need to know 3 things:
- When to lay in detail
- Where to lay in detail
- When NOT to lay in detail
After years and years of slathering the detail around and NOT being told why it wasn’t working, I figured it out for myself and came up with a simple rule of thumb that works for me.
Employ rich detail at moments of emotion. When there is no emotional significance, keep your detail to a minimum. Show what you need to and keep moving.
Here I’ve written a snatch of a scene that does it the WRONG WAY:
Bobby stormed in, straight through the front door, down the hall and in to the kitchen. He was a man possessed. As he crossed the kitchen floor, his eyes burned, his nostrils flared, his hair spilled crazily across his forehead, and his breathing resounded like a spring zephyr.
Halting at the table he fixed his gaze on Jennifer, and the room seemed suddenly so quiet it was hard to believe a sound had ever been heard in it.
“Will you…?” he broke off, his face imploring her, his words overcome by heavy breathing.
“Yes,” she said.
Then she cooked the best meal ever, and the evening was so much fun neither one of them wanted it ever to end.
Do you see the problem? A ton of fanciful detail is wasted on Bobby’s entry into the kitchen. Jennifer, who has been waiting “so long” for this moment, gets next to none–only a summary statement of her hunch. Then Bobby pops the question. And…
“Okay” is all we get.
No iconic image of the moment, nothing to indicate what would surely be deep feeling––a palpatating heart, a quick surge of warmth to her skin––no tremble in her voice, no few halting words, no deep glow warming her gaze. Only: “Okay.”
Okay? And nothing else? Give me a break.
The blunder could easily have been avoided by referring to my rule of thumb. To do it right, simply ask: where is the emotion concentrated in this scene? Bobby displays excitement, and a kind of blustering determination–he’s going to ask that question, darn it. But the almost overwhelming emotion has got to be in Jennifer’s reaction. The girl is being proposed to–and after waiting and waiting for it.
It’s that easy. Having asked the right question and arrived at the correct conclusion, you now know where to concentrate the richness of detail.
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
Bill -
This is very helpful advice and I think, from the many writing workshops I took in my undergrad and graduate days, that too many writers suffer from an inability to discern what’s important in terms of detail and what’s not. One of my favorite professors (a novelist himself) once quipped, “If the detail can be construed as metaphoric, keep it in.”
With that in mind and reading your passage, the writer could add something like this:
Halting at the table he fixed his gaze on Jennifer, WHO STOOD OVER THE STOVE, STIRRING THE RICE AND BEANS IN A SLOW, REPETITIVE MOTION. The room seemed suddenly so quiet it was hard to believe a sound had ever been heard in it.
Absolutely, Marc, a good metaphor can certainly brand a detail with uniqueness. But the choice of a simple action, clearly described, is just as effective. That’s what you’ve done here, quite well. Your suggestion conveys Jennifer’s emotion indirectly, thus more powerfully, though I’d say it’s description not metaphor (no matter how symbolic).
Here’s an afterthought: A revision of this scene would start by asking: “where is the emotion?” Then, because there are two characters, both showing emoton,”whose emotion should get the focus?” I intentionally mishandled the scene to illustrate my point–overwrote Bobby’s feverish frenzy, and underwrote Jennifer’s deeper (I assumed) emotion. So Jennifer’s was the strategically important emotion, but I bungled the strategy. To fix it, a new balance should be established. You did half the job, but in addition, you’d have to peel away some of Bobby’s excess.