Just the other day I was re-reading M*A*S*H, the novel by Dr. Richard Hornberger (under the pseudonym 'Richard Hooker") and I was shocked to realize how much I was enjoying it. This shouldn't come as much of a surprise for anyone who has read it, it was and is a fantastic book. It spawned a fantastic movie and a long-lived, seminal TV show that is still in syndication 30 years after its cancelling. But generally speaking I re-read something out of boredom, not desire. Often I will put it down once some new object of affection strikes my fancy. But not so with M*A*S*H. I cranked through the book in a couple of days. My wife will tell you I tend to be a very slow, methodical reader. So what was going on with this one?
M*A*S*H was economical. The writing was sparse, quick and to the point. Not terse, mind you, because it's full of flowery adjectives and wonderful descriptions. But these are effective in their use. They are lean. The title is the longest thing in the book (the full title is M*A*S*H: A Novel About Three Army Doctors, but even this is economical because that is indeed all the book is about). So many things happen in its scant 219 pages you'd be forgiven if you think it sounds like a police report: The doctors arrive in Seoul, travel to the 4077th, meet another doctor, save the dentist's life, golf in a tournament in Tokyo, get an Amerasian baby adopted, all while operating in the midst of one of the most destructive wars in history. All that happens in the first half of the book.
I have nothing against the George R.R. Martins, the Anne Rice's and the Stephen Kings of the world. They are all excellent storytellers. But reading them personally saps my will. It is an exercise in tedium (with some great payoffs) wrapped in descriptions of flower etchings on gold armor, characters who never appear again, scented candles, Chantilly lace curtains and conversations that go on (and on and on and on) well past the point where the plot device was established.
I am not against descriptive prose, either. I love the gothic horror stories of James, Bierce, et al. and a great deal of their short stories is merely mis-en-scene and exposition, but in the case of gothic horror, the story serves the atmosphere, not the other way around.
So what's the point? Well, as you can tell from this post, I can be long-winded. All authors can. It's part of what allows us to do what we do. Imagine if Haggard couldn't describe the room containing King Solomon's treasure or if Burgess hadn't bothered to create the droogie's special speak in A Clockwork Orange? But both of them edited themselves. Both took the time after they had thrown everything on paper to carefully cut and incise from their works the unnecessary. It's hard, like performing plastic surgery on your own child, but it must be done. Editors can and will do it, but you should too, especially if you want to leap off the intern's pile at an agency. I won't tell you what to cut, but I have some tips on how to cut them:
- Searching your text is something Hemingway never had but you do. Exploit it. Do what I call The Suddenly Search. Search your work for the word 'Suddenly'. Where you find it is a sign you've been too cheap with your work. You've probably skimped that paragraph so you could get quicker to the paragraph you really wanted to write. Rewrite the 'suddenly' paragraph and then look to edit the next one. Trust me on this one. (Note: if your character says 'suddenly' while talking, that's ok).
- Be clinical on your re-reads. Ask yourself 'Does this line advance the story?' Sometimes it's good to just have lines in there, but most of the time you're just in love with your prose. Cut it out and save it somewhere because you will get to use it again in another story where it ain't just pretty, it has meaning. So don't fret, you're not killing it, just putting it on ice.
- Search the word 'Said'. you'll be shocked how much you use it. if the conversation flows, you don't need to define for the reader who said what. It's hard to do this while writing. It's hard to cut them out even after you've finished, but look at this example and ask yourself which is better:
A
"You're not the one." She said. Her eyes burned like fire. "You've never been the one."
"What do you mean?" I asked. I hesitated, afraid to ask the question nagging me. "Do you still love me?"
"It's not about love, you fool." She replied.
B
"You're not the one." Her eyes burned like fire. "You've never been the one."
"What do you mean?" I hesitated, afraid to ask the question nagging me. "Do you still love me? "
"It's not about love, you fool."
-Will