The sky is a tapestry of clouds in blues and grays, for me, as welcome as a kiss. When I first moved to Portland I would be amazed at the people who claimed to love the rain, the gray, the constant sullen sky. They would rhapsodize about how the rain made everything so green and I’d think they were all nuts. Well, as years have gone by, I cannot claim that I love the rain, but I know with a certainty that I hate heat. This past week the temperatures were in the 80s, and several times when I was out the sun felt as punishing as August in Kansas, the air lazy and parched and still. And I was watering twice a day and it was only May……..So I’m happy to welcome back cooler weather.
Recently a lovely writer in Portland sent me this question. She wrote: "The following quote from a New York Times book review stopped me in my tracks. (Underlining mine.)
“The Sea Lady” is a waterlogged, ramshackle contraption that fascinates even as it annoys. [Margaret] Drabble’s longtime readers won’t be surprised by the novel’s tactics. After all, the most important entry in her long bibliography may be her sympathetic biography of Arnold Bennett, one of the Edwardian novelists — along with John Galsworthy and H. G. Wells — denounced by Virginia Woolf. (“They have given us a house,” Woolf declared, arguing that their concentration on external description, on the workings of society, failed to convey the inner lives of their characters, “in the hope that we may be able to deduce the human beings who live there.”)
There is so much emphasis these days on concrete external details. I am much more interested in the inner lives of characters. It's nice to discover I'm in the excellent company of Virginia Woolf."
She then asked my opinion. What an interesting question…..First, I haven’t read too many Edwardian novelists and it’s been years since I read any of Woolf’s or Drabble’s books, but I love Woolf’s comment and I’d like to weigh in here. I was teaching a workshop on plot this past weekend in Olympia. As I began the day I talked to the writers about understanding the underpinnings of plotting. You see, when a writer understands the underpinnings of fiction— the three-act structure, plot points, turning points, reversals, and the like, the story is easier to write. You need a three-act structure because first you need to establish the fictional world and its characters and dilemmas. This set up should create a story question or problem that must be resolved. Then once you’ve established the conflict and situation, you need to complicate the situation and make it intolerable in the middle of the novel. You also need to send the story skittering off in a fresh direction in the middle with an interesting reversal. Then, as you write the final act, you need to resolve the situation. If you don’t have these three basic acts you don’t have a novel. If I were to try for an analogy, you cannot build a house without a foundation and lumber.
Now, lots of writers grow impatient or pissed off when I talk about underpinnings. Instead they want to be an artiste, they want their stories to be a flow of images dictated from the muse. But if you don’t have three acts and plot points and the like, you haven’t written fiction. You have ramblings and digressions and people floundering around on a flimsy soundstage or a ramshackle contraption. Or, you have something that’s thin and ghostly and empty.
Another aspect of fiction is change—a character is pummeled by a series of threatening changes. These changes will create conflict and force your protagonist to change in the way he or she needs to most change. Some protagonists won’t change or won’t change much—James Bond, Sherlock Holmes, Kinsey Milhone. They’re designed to be static or fairly static characters because the reader’s are fascinated by the action, not the character growth or character arc. Or they’re designed to change over the course of a series, but change little within a single novel.
Which leads us to the writer’s question. A fictional world needs details because details create a reality. How many or how few details are entirely a matter of taste and the dictates of the genre. A historical novel, science fiction novel or fantasy novel will necessarily require more details than a contemporary novel because we need proofs of the fictional dream. Similarly, horror writers use more details because they want the story to be atmospheric and spooky, and they’ll want setting to impose another layer of tension.
When there are too many details or descriptions the story becomes cluttered and the reader becomes confused and bogs down while reading. You see, if you lavish three hundred words on an object the reader will imagine this item is important. Similarly, if there are too few details, the reader will feel ill at ease and confused. He won’t be able to unpack his bags and wander around in the story world.
Every writer must find the perfect balance of details and description to provide a vivid sense of place. When a room contains no colors or furniture or smells it’s possible that when the character is experiencing the crisis of his or her life, the reader won’t buy into the crisis because he cannot imagine the world. The more intense the character arc, the more firmly you need to create a fictional world that this growth and change can play out against. So a house and all its embellishments cannot replace the delicious arc of a character. But a character who acts out on a blank soundstage will not be believed either. If I have spotted the overflowing ashtray and empty beer cans and dust clouding the furniture, I’m much more apt to believe in the emotional fireworks that happen in the room. It’s all a matter of balance. If you want more information on how much detail to use, consult Stephen King’s chapter in On Writing.