“A gorgeous, aching love letter to stories.”
I bought a book based solely on reading this brief, beautiful review on the back cover.
These words comprised Christina Henry’s review of a novel by Alix E. Harrow, The Ten Thousand Doors of January. The intriguing title was a bonus.
What a challenge it is for writers to hit just the right note, find the perfect word in the hopes of moving a reader the same way this phrase moved me.
At the beginning of my very first creative writing class, the instructor made a pronouncement that I remember to this day.
“Success,” he said, “requires either the ordinary use of extraordinary words or the extraordinary use of ordinary words.”
An oversimplified statement to say the least but it sounded incredibly profound to my eighteen-year-old ears. I decided at that moment that the extraordinary use of ordinary words might be achievable for me. Probably because the reverse inferred sophistication, academia and eloquence, all of which was unfamiliar territory to me at the time.
As it turns out, bigger words don’t necessarily result in bigger impacts.
Tried and true advice is summed up in Mark Cooney’s article The Pros Know: Plain Language is Just Good Writing. He quotes an experienced editor:
“Classic language is a simple language. The reader’s pleasure is not in the effort you put into a trumpeting voice, but how invisible you make the words, just how close you can get to telepathy.”
Telepathy?
According to the dictionary: supposed communication of thoughts or ideas by means other than the known senses. The phrase mind-reading showed up as well. What a way to describe the writer and reader connection. It does help explain how stories can envelop and transcend us.
I understand the importance of not interrupting the reader’s flow. Adding anything superfluous can force a pause for the reader in order to clarify their understanding of what’s happening.
I’m trying to stop using too many synonyms, a habit used to add emphasis presumably. Geoff Hart in his article Five Ways that Consistency Matters has given me a new mantra to strive for: “…one meaning per word and one word per meaning.”
But what is a word lover to do when tempted to embellish their prose? To decorate with favorite or fun words like sprinkles on an ice cream cone? Resistance seems futile.
The solution may be to relegate fanciful or elaborate language to a character; a quirky, overly expressive logophile, rousing wonderful words to her heart’s content. Whether this trait presents as a flaw or an endearment, each word will need to be meticulously chosen of course.
Now it’s time to open that beautiful book and see if I can grasp what moved the author to write that simple but eloquent review.
