Hypnagogia — A Reflection
Tag: Nonfiction
How to Say Something Unique – The Parts of Speech
One of my favorite parts of writing is creating awesome sentences. To really get the reader unexpecting on each line—to the point where they’re hooked cuz they just HAVE to read the next line—you have to break some conventions.
Here’s a convention: the parts of speech. Nouns are nouns, verbs are verbs, etc. But it doesn’t have to be this way.
I mean, you could sneak inside a building, but you could also patience your way to the front of the line. And you get the same results—one’s just more fun better than the other.
Similarly, you could skip school, but you could also skip eating (this second example uses what’s called a gerrund, which is when an “-ing” verb functions as a noun).
There are many parts of speech and many ways to mess around with them. What will you come up with?
Good Nouns Go a Long Way
Adjectives may be strong, but nouns are powerful. With a good noun, you can go an entire story with an adjective.
Adjectives are strong, but sometimes they can be weak. Take the phrases below for example:
“a funny guy”
“a guy who is funny“
Both examples are helpful describg the noun (“guy”) but they are also flawed. In the first phrase, if the page cut off after the adjective “funny,” readers would be confused. A funny what? T-shirt? Song?
The second example shares this flaw. It uses an relative clause (“who is _”) which functions as an adjective, since it describes the noun. It’s a handy technique, but if the page cut off anywhere after “guy” and before “funny,” readers would be lost. Imagine if after the “is” was information that never again gets revealed in a story. The sentence could read: “A guy who is a fan of sentimental operas, though he tends not share this with others.” But readers would only see “a guy who is” and never be fufilled. Ah, the unaddressed suspense…!
Don’t get me wrong, adjectives are great. They can be excellent descriptors, with phrases like “a witty guy” or “a guy who has a wry sense of humor.” But they hold nouns back.
With a good noun in a phrase, you don’t need an adjective:
“A prankster“
“A comedian“
“An impressionist“
In one word, a reader has learned information that previously required two words.
Whenever you’re revising your work, it’s always a good idea to look at the adjectives you’ve used and decide if they work good or if they could swapped out for a better noun. Happy writing, and seeya next time!
Quote Me On This
Can we learn anything by writing down quotes? I ask myself this sometimes, when I read a punchy phrase in a crime story, or one that tugs my heart’s strings, or one that’s constructed expertly, each word placed like a brick forming a smooth column. I analyze the quotes sometimes, pick them apart like a vulture and savor each segment, then step back again to marvel at the thing as a whole. But how does this help me grow as a writer? I haven’t found myself mimicking the quote. Nor do I want to. I want the pride of having created something myself.
Perhaps it’s got to be a conscious effort. Perhaps it comes down to rereading those quotes a couple times in a week, and deciding to use its technique, whatever it may be for that particular quote that makes it stand out. Perhaps it comes down to rewriting it a few times, and then doing something similar on my own, and then finally my brain will guide me to making my own powerful quote. And if that method doesn’t work, doesn’t lead to me creating my own power quote, at least I’d learn how to appreciate more the one I already loved.
Quotes are like beautiful paintings you hang up and can look at again and again and always draw inspiration from. Quote me on this 😉
Watch Closely,
Or in other words, watch actively. Don’t skim over the details; inhale them all like you do the molecules necessary for your breath. Look between the lines, or at them, whether on the micro or macro. Let the work seep into the pores of your mind, smooth as chamomile tea—warm, thick—redolent of honey, milk, and calm. It swishes in your brain, a ready jug, til it’s replete and dripping like a sponge. Soaked in idea, you can properly now give opinions on art.
Last year I took an art class and learned something I never want to forget. All my life I’ve been a writer from a family of painters and sketch artists. My most impressive drawings were some stick figure fights I did as a kid. Thus, throughout my semester, my art was outmatched by my peers who had years more experience than me. I could barely draw a still life of a chair and a cardboard box. Meanwhile, the blonde beside me who claimed her work had room for improvement had practically sculpted a rocking horse, its legs polygonal boulders, its jaw obround, its mane flowing in the wind.
Of course, though they were all talented, there was a skill hierarchy among my classmates. A brunette from across the room was excellent at point perspective, but when we got to drawing people, her human faces looked like horses. I felt that pity you feel when you realize someone’s just as bad as you are. And yet, her confidence remained unassailable. Brighter even. Matt, our professor, led us all around to examine each other’s works. When we reached the horse-human drawing, my classmate was flooded by a shower of compliments—genuine compliments. My head jerked back in surprise as she received “Nice shading!” “You did a great job on the nose,” “The angles are short, crisp, tidy.” The portrait was blatantly terrible, yet the genuine strengths mentioned were simply glossed over by my mind. Initially, I only gave her piece a glance, but my classmates had stared at it for minutes.
A different class session, I was making a drawing using charcoal, which is much more finicky than pencil. I had no shame in complaining to Matt, recounting how bad at drawing I was or how much I didn’t know. After all, I was a beginner in a class full of the advanced. In response he asked me, smug, attempting to coax an epiphany, “But just what is a bad drawing anyway?” which is the most cliché line I’ve heard uttered by a human being, but it made me realize something. Even those things which seem to lack detail, seem amateurish even, have strengths not immediately discernible. Whether drawing or writing, whether beginner or advanced, you’ll catch something you didn’t notice before if you watch closely.
The Fiction Writer 