10 Ways to Add a Spark of Fire
By Kathryn Craft | July 5, 2016 |
photo adapted / Horia Varlan
Virginia Woolf left behind many pithy quotes about writing, but this is one of my favorites. I keep it taped to my computer to remind me of the writer’s greatest challenge: to engage and entertain the reader through words alone.
Each sentence must have, at its heart, a little spark of fire, and this, whatever the risk, the novelist must pluck with his own hands from the blaze. — Virginia Woolf
Imagine how a little spark of fire in every sentence could ignite your storytelling.
There are so many ways to pull that off, many of them on display in Leif Enger’s So Brave, Young, and Handsome. The story follows Monte Becket’s 1915 journey to regain purpose after the astounding success of his debut novel sucks the life from him. Monte latches onto Glendon Hale, a character with a shady past whose goal is clear: in a hand-built boat, he will set out from Minnesota toward Mexico seeking Blue, the wife he abandoned, so he can make amends. Monte pulls double duty as narrator and protagonist.
The tale is like the river the two men initially head down: while not always a whitewater thrill fest, its inexorable current continually beckons the reader. The astute writer reading this book will recognize that this downstream pull is due in no small part to the way Enger sparks his sentences.
Let’s look at some of the ways he does so and see if we could borrow some of them for our own work.
1. Raise a reader question by making the usual unusual:
The fourth day of rain I entered the President’s Tavern to find Glendon uneasily drinking coffee with José Barrera.
2. Grabbing the reader’s attention through thought-provoking word groupings and/or unusual events:
[José] was at least sixty yet still managed, through a sanguine outlook on pain, to startle crowds by riding at full gallop standing on his head in the saddle.
3. Offering the narrator’s humorous commentary on another character’s dialogue:
Yes, it’s true,” Glendon replied, gloomily realizing I was no shield against direct speech.
4. Making up words to suit an interesting word picture:
Like many veteran riders he walked hitchingly as though unused to his own feet.
5. Using an evocative verb in an otherwise banal dialogue beat:
He lurched to a tarnished urn on the counter, filled his cup and returned to the table.
6. Creating an “unlike list”—the sort of thing that would usually garner editorial criticism—to advantage:
Her husband is named Soto. He has two fruit orchards and three or four languages.
7. Anthropomorphizing:
You should leave soon, though. That river is losing its patience.
8. Layering in meaning by using a character name that allows double entendre:
Glendon was startled; he’d been set on Mexico, on the Blue of his memory.
9. Evocative sensory description:
Did you ever see a flood? It’s uglier than fire and makes a worse smell.
10. Constant attention to characterization:
Are you going to pay for the coffee?”
“All right.”
“Good, thank you, I’m saving my pennies.”
Of course Enger exhibits many additional techniques, but the point is not to sprinkle a generous handful of original thought throughout your book—it’s to do so on every page.
This brings us to the true source of today’s inspiration: these examples come from one two-page spread (pp.124-125 in the hardcover) in Enger’s novel. Despite the fact that the scene is set in one of the most common locales in the historical western —in a tavern—while the men are engaged in one of the most humdrum activities—drinking their morning coffee—I found such delight in this prose I underlined all ten of these examples.
Would you like to delight your reader? (Um, the answer here should be Hell yeah!) Imagine how much your manuscript would benefit if you added small sparks of fire to your prose. Could you pull this off in an equally concentrated fashion?
Back when Oprah Winfrey had her show on ABC and chose Janet Fitch’s White Oleander for her book club, Fitch said that in later drafts she pored over her prose and replaced any word combination she’d ever before heard (think mousy brown hair) with something that felt original. Imagine such diligence! Fitch strives for originality by treating her word choices and groupings as if her novels were long prose poems, and it shows.
Understandably, this is more effort than most novelists are willing to expend. But might you be willing to add a spark of fire to one or two paragraphs per page, as a way to spotlight their importance? Or on random pages in each chapter, to further engage and entertain your reader?
No matter what you are writing, open your manuscript now and give it a try. Of this I am sure: no author ever failed to benefit from raising the literary quality of his or her chosen genre.
In the comments: Care to share a sentence from your own work to which you’ve added a little spark of fire?
[coffee]
Kathryn Craft (she/her) is the author of two novels from Sourcebooks, The Art of Falling and The Far End of Happy. Her forthcoming book, Crafting Story Movement: Techniques to Engage Readers and Drive Your Novel Forward, draws from decades of experience as both a story consultant and a movement specialist/dance critic. Learn more on Kathryn’s website.
Hello Kathryn. The examples you offer fit very well with your descriptions of how writers can make sentences their own. I happen to subscribe to the values underpinning your advice. But it must be added that avoidance of cliché assumes that readers value novelty and invention. If they don’t, if they are instead startled or irritated by sentences that say “look at me, I’m different,” then the writer has lost rather than won their sympathy.
Hi Barry, I think I see your point, in general—but which of these sentences do you feel tips into “attention drawing” instead of serving the story in an engaging, entertaining way? (I love this stuff so much I might not see it!)
Kathryn: “I love this stuff so much I might not see it!” I’m with you on this. Like you, I love the imaginative, fresh use of language. But I also know that this love can stand between me and the reader. Especially when we’re talking about genre rather than literary fiction.
You ask me to choose where the problem might figure in your examples, so here goes.
1. “a sanguine outlook on pain.” Why not a cheerful or welcoming outlook? Does a five-dollar word like sanguine really fit with someone hand-standing on a galloping horse?
2. “Like many veteran riders, he walked hitchingly….” Neologisms can be fun, like making a noun/verb into an adverb. But why does the writer do it? Answer: for the novelty, the differentness. If the invented word brings pleasure to the reader (as it no doubt does to the writer), all is well. But too much of this can pretty quickly come off as self-indulgent. John Updike is a good example of a wordsmith writer. I always admired his short stories and essays, but the smithy thing got old for me in reading his novels, so I stopped.
Hope this makes sense.
It makes great sense, again, in general. I know what you mean. But as for sanguine—read my comment to Alicia, below!
It depends a lot on the point of view. Sentences which come from a narrator–as several of your examples seem to do–are allowed far more leeway that those which come from a character pov.
The main character in Pride’s Children is a writer – and it shows. Her inner monologue is where we see her tackling the big questions. Here is a sentence as she sorts her feelings out:
“He’d disturbed her fragile peace, but nothing changed, nothing was changeable, nothing would change—except she now possessed a tiny useless shred of knowledge: whatever was in her which longed for something—or someone—was not yet dead.”
I tend to short sentences, to build up an effect from pieces, so I had to search for a single one with a bit of story in it. Here is such a paragraph:
“The yearnings were caged. She chose to pour them into characters.”
And another, dialogue, from a different character:
“Reading. Reading. Reading. Such a terrible habit. You do that, the story’s in your head in a few hours, and I can’t dislodge it. All my backing and all my people, and you went ahead and did a little movie in your head, and now what am I going to do with you?”
Picking examples was hard; the verb here is ‘dislodge.’ “I can’t get it out of your head” would be the more common first version. Sometimes the effect comes from using very plain words carefully.
Literary is a quality. It can be used anywhere. It does take a lot more work. My requirement is that it not interfere with story.
I love these examples, Alicia, thanks so much for them. Extending the discussion from Barry, above, I think you’re absolutely right that Enger’s narrator, who is a writer, defines the nature of the words used. Thus “sanguine,” which yes, does not at all go with an acrobatic rider, and firmly positions him as an outsider in every way—which to my eye, makes the passage all the more entertaining. I laughed out loud when I first read it, and a few times since! And your lovely choice of “dislodge,” above, catches the eye in a passage that I might otherwise skim.
And I agree – literary quality should be everywhere in the writing, not plunked in like a miser makes a cherry pie.
Also note: the link to ‘Kathryn’s website’ in the green box above leads to a WU Page not found error.
a) Thanks you for [trying to] click through to my website!
b) Thank you for telling me about the broken link. Will get that fixed! In the meantime: https://kathryncraft.com
“His eyes lit up like a spent sparkler that found one last burst of bright blue fizz to make children shriek in the dusk.”
No, too long.
“His eyes lit up like a sparkler not quite spent, flaring one last time.”
Mmm…
“His dull eyes flared like a sparkler almost, but not quite, gone.”
Dull.
“His dull eyes flared like a sparkler almost spent.”
Maybe.
Hey, this is hard work. That Leif Enger, what a show off!
Then again, who said sparks of fire are easy? If you’ve ever used a flint and steel to start a campfire, you know. You’ve got to whack the steel against the flint many times, catch a spark in dry tinder, blow gently and coax the spark into flame. Not easy.
Love this, Kathryn. Solid craft.
Benjamin I enjoyed the hell out of your comment! I read your first line and editor brain kicked in—No! Too long!—and when I read your next line, you had me! And no, it’s not easy. In the final stages I’ve been known to spend an hour on a line just like this one!
Hi, Kathryn! I loved Enger’s Peace Like a River for many of the reasons you listed here. He’s an amazing wordsmith, and while the narration certainly wouldn’t work in all novels, I think he nailed the voice for that book.
For me, fresh language comes from fresh prespective- a willingness to push past the most obvious aspects of my characters, setting, and story to find those qualities that make them unique. The language flows from that.
…ideally. When I’m properly caffeinated. Other times, I write paragraphs and paragraphs to get to that one, true sentence. :)
Sarah I loved everything about your comment, thanks for leaving it! Fresh perspective—one might argue it’s the only reason to add to the world’s huge cache of novels. And I, like many readers, will wade through the muck of lesser verbiage to reach that one, true sentence. The one you underline, read aloud at book club, print out and tape to your wall. So precious!
Love this Kathryn and will be considering the basic message of your post when I do some rewriting today.
When she opened her eyes the fickle sky shouted time passing, a raw egg sky with jagged clouds, backlit and dazzling.
Hi Beth! Love the bold dive on this sentence although you describe two different skies, leaving me wondering which she really sees, and the “raw egg” stopped me as I tried to figure out what you meant by it. But we writers don’t get anywhere by being timid, and in time this sentence will find its one, true image. Thanks for sharing.
Hi Kathryn,
“It’s the smell. You can taste it.”
Hi Rick, yes, switching up senses can be a great way to grab reader attention—although out of context, here, it’s hard to know what you are talking about. Thanks for playing!
Hi Kathryn,
I’d like to try again:
A gust of wind came out of nowhere spattering Ken Katsuro’s calf length waxed coat with raindrops that ran in small rivulets staining his shoulders and arms a dark wet colour. Katsuro looked up at the hopeless drunks lurking outside the east end bars and grimaced at the ranting psych cases roaming the sidewalks. There’s something evil about drugs, Katsuro told himself, the raw image of the syringe embedded in his mind. He had empathy for some of the people that lived down here but the sight of rotting garbage and urine stains always got to him. “It’s the smell,” Katsuro muttered with finanlity. “You can taste it.”
Now that’s some context! I could smell and (unfortunately, lol) taste it.
Great post and great comments! I am revisiting my current ms!
Thanks Linda. Have fun!
Kathryn, I ADORE this in so many ways! Am printing out to reference in revision. And I vividly recall that Woolf quote at your desk. Anthropomorphizing is my favorite :). What a wonderful list to use especially in revision when you lavishly elevate your words with care. I aim to do what Fitch did – rub those word sticks and make fire from vanilla vapidness!
A sentence with a spark from my WIP? hmm….
“She’d shrunk since Emilene had last seen her, draped there in a gray dress, like a worn out doll left outdoors, shriveled in the rain and bleached from the sun–or maybe it was Emilene who’d grown.”
OR MAYBE?
“She inhaled her childhood in one breath then marched in the back kitchen door of Dain’s great house and shook the walls with a slam.”
ADORE your writing back, Donna—these are both vivid images that further the characterization and storytelling. Well done.
Thanks for this post of advice I can use. I too try to avoid cliche-ed phrases and weed them out as I revise. I also try to slip in unexpected verbs. Here’s a line from the first ch. my WIP about a terrorist who boats to Greece from Turkey:
The Aegean shimmered blue under a soft offshore breeze that barely ruffled its swells.
And later in that chapter:
Yawping seabirds and glimmers of grey light extinguished his dream, leaving him with a headache and a hard-on. He picked himself up, aware that he had to keep moving. But first, he guessed where Mecca was, and knelt to do the Fajr ṣalāh. Then he relieved himself in the bay and stripped away his salt-stiffened clothes for fresh ones from his backpack. Before leaving, he interred the foul garments he had worn for weeks under sand and rocks.
I enjoyed this Geoff! Evocative language that kept your story moving. Little sparks all over the place. Thanks for sharing!
Ok, I’m going to preface this statement with we’re all friends here and this is a safe place for our contrary opinions and to disagree and still be friends at the end of the day … right? I love Writer Unboxed and I don’t want to make any real enemies :P. With that said:
Oh my, I’m not sure what to say here except no. No no no. I disagree with his so much it feels like there’s a tumorous lump massively growing in my throat, and if I don’t throw my 2 cents in, said tumor will take root and rip out every happy cell left in my body (I hope that sentence had spark).
On that note, when I read the quotations from the story, the first thing in my mind is: What’s REALLY going on here/where’s the heart in this story. There’s NOTHING deep here. Everything that has been expressly chosen and quoted is so shallow I would put the book down and go for a swim in this beautiful weather. In order to make sense of what’s going on here, I feel like the author of the story (as represented in the post) is afraid to go deep … we all know the kind of people … they’re in all of our families somewhere: The ones who change the subject when we talk about our deepest fears or about someone who hurt or touched our lives in the past … they change the subject because they can’t drill down to those rich and scary layers that make us all human. The way this story is represented is just so shallow it doesn’t even scratch the surface of humanity or why I believe we come to be truly engrossed in a story.
The complicated thing about this is that I’ve been to numerous writing conferences and I must say that SCBWI has an excellent turnout of people who are great and polished writers who take their craft very seriously … but … they can’t tell a story. They read things like ‘put sparks in your sentence’ (I did too) and think that’s the key, but at the end of the day, I watch the agents and editors on the panels looking at each other and whispering as they try to say something nice-yet-helpful. I’ve talked to them so I know. These writers make their sentences pop and they truly are pretty sentences, but who the F&*% cares? No one. If you don’t believe me, go to one of these things and watch the people in the room. After, talk to the panel people and ask them about “the truth” about their comments, because understanding what’s really going on is the only way to go beyond pretty sentences that keep churning out rejection letters.
If you’re still reading this extremely long response of mine, lets analyze a few of the chosen sentences that have been quoted:
First off, this is how the novel is described:
“Monte latches onto Glendon Hale, a character with a shady past whose goal is clear: in a hand-built boat, he will set out from Minnesota toward Mexico seeking Blue, the wife he abandoned, so he can make amends. Monte pulls double duty as narrator and protagonist.”
Lets go deeper here. What was the specific reason he abandoned her for? What was that shady past? Amends of/for what? And no, this isn’t a question drawn up out of interest from the novel’s description, it’s me saying no matter what kind of sentences are in here, I’m not going to care unless I’m drawn in by specifics from the characters’ lives in the story. And writing these specifics can be done in a couple of tight sentences, but it takes a lot of thought and logic.
These chosen quotes, which I’m assuming were chosen because of how they drew the reader in were:
“The fourth day of rain I entered the President’s Tavern to find Glendon uneasily drinking coffee with José Barrera.”
This was the first quote chosen after we read the general blurb about the story? Did this really draw anyone in? Really? Maybe, but there is NO context to anything in this first sentence, it’s just something that’s happening. The guy could have gas for all we know. There’s nothing THERE. Where’s the story in this sentence? What’s happening that has to do with the man who was desperate enough to leave his wife and then get on that make-shift boat?
Next:
“[José] was at least sixty yet still managed, through a sanguine outlook on pain, to startle crowds by riding at full gallop standing on his head in the saddle.”
OMG, now I see a Warner Brothers cartoon character. I’m immediately yanked out of the story while the writer put something ridiculous on the page. I’m using the word ridiculous because of the context we are given on the story’s description of: This man is clever enough to build boats, abandons a wife for perhaps a noble reason, has a shady past he is probably taking responsibility for (I’m filling in as much context as I can because there is so little to deeply go on) but instead of talking about that, we are given a quote of a man of 60 years standing on his head riding a horse… HUH? No, no no no. No. I can’t say it enough, NO. Don’t do this. Don’t EVER choose to draw us into something with serious context using a cartoon-style image. No. No like really? NO!
I can’t even bother to analyze the rest of the quotes. They MEAN absolutely nothing. They are the most shallow, unimportant sentences to telling a real heart-felt STORY that I’ve subjected myself to reading in a long time. Okay okay, I know…Chris … take a breath, do yoga … relax dude. Yes, I will. I swear after this I will do some yard work and play in the sun, but for now… the reason I have written this so passionately is that before I knew better, I wasted YEARS of my life working on sentences rather than drilling deep into my characters and telling their stories based on their struggles and their pain. Like the pain I went through when I was 12 and gained a lot of weight and had to endure braces … and then my parents dropped me into 7th grade at a Lutheran school where I didn’t know anyone. I was alone and everyone made fun of me, even one of the teachers. It was so hurtful that when I went into high school and did the ‘lucky-teen-change’ of growing tall and slender and became better looking … I still saw (and continue to see myself as) the ugly fat boy everyone made fun of. So no matter how much money I make, how hard I push myself … I can’t enjoy it because I still see the boy everyone made fun of when I look at myself in the mirror. It hurts me that I still can’t get past that. That is true, and that, my friends is a story. Not strange sentences that pop or spark or go nowhere.
Please please please: I am not trying to offend anyone, I am just very passionate about this particular aspect of writing. I only began to feel successful after I took the sentences down a notch and began focusing on the nuances of the characters and their lives. With that said, my opinion is only one of a billion out there. I realize that.
Hope you’re all doing well out there in Cyber-Unboxed and I can’t wait for the conference! And don’t beat me up or make fun of me when you see me because I will cry. And watching a grown man cry is funny … but also sad.
Hi Chris, thanks for all the thought you put into your comment. You will get no argument from me that storytelling is the most important foundational element of the literary arts. But Writer Unboxed in general and my column in particular offers posts based on all aspects of craft, not just storytelling. Since I am an “upmarket” writer who aspires to walk the literary-yet-accessible line by telling a great story through beautiful language, today I decided to talk about some ways to spark the language. Nowhere in this post did I suggest that this should be done at the expense of storytelling; it should be done in support of story, as one additional way to engage the reader.
Like you, I am predisposed to novels with deep emotional resonance, so now you can rest assured that while I did not focus on these aspects here, the novel contained them. Sounds like this one may not be your cup of tea, but if you want to read it before Salem, I’ll be glad to extend the dialogue in person. Look forward to meeting you, and even though you slammed the door on the points I was trying to make, I promise not to cry either. ;)