“Effective writing depends on showing through action, dialogue, or detail.”
—OLGA LITOWINSKY
Isn’t it a relief to be done with picture-book form? Now we’ll turn to the Two Ss of strong writing, which are essential regardless of your audience’s age. Let’s delve into the first S.
Nancy Lamb, in The Writer’s Guide to Crafting Stories for Children, says, “Think of … scenes … as stepping stones that steer you down the path of your plot.” Too often authors don’t write the most important scenes. It’s much easier to write “The two friends made up” than to write the dialogue that allows readers to observe their emotional transition from hostility to understanding. Skipping an important scene is not only lazy writing; it’s poor writing. Scenes are critical, permitting readers and listeners to experience events with the characters, watching the story unfold along with them. But to write a scene, you must know what a scene is.
My favorite definition comes from Jack Bickham in his book Scene and Structure. He says scene is “a segment of story action, written moment-by-moment, without summary, presented onstage in the story ‘now.’ It is not something that goes on inside a character’s head; it is physical. It could be put on the theater stage and acted out.”
In the Bickham quote, action means something is happening that you can see. A character punching another character is action. A character crying is action, and a character storming out of a room is more action. Because action is illustratable and contemplation isn’t, picture-book writers must put as much action as possible into their manuscripts. If a scene is written “moment-by-moment, without summary,” that means we see it exactly as it happens. It is not a condensation of an event. A scene is physical in that outsiders can observe it.
Scenes are the best way to communicate conflict and tension. The scene is the primary device for making readers and listeners respond to your story in the manner you desire. A scene allows them to play out in their minds what is taking place on the page, making them participants in your book. The vaguer you are, the more you summarize and push your audience away from the character. You are permitting them to imagine what the scene might have been, and that can be very different from knowing what actually happened.
A scene must do one of two things: advance the plot or reveal something new about your characters. If a scene in your picture book doesn’t advance your story, write it as a narrative summary. For example, if the route your character takes to the soccer game isn’t relevant, you can simply write “when he arrived at the stadium.” If your writing doesn’t let the reader discover some unknown facet of your character, you can summarize this, too, but be sure that your choice of scene or summary is correct. Don’t write a summary just because constructing a scene is more challenging.
If scenes were easy, everyone would write them. The best way to ensure that your audience experiences a scene is for you to put yourself in it. This isn’t as difficult as it sounds. Be an actor. Pretend you’re the character. Slip out of your skin, and put on your character’s. By this point, you’ve already created your character study. You know your character so well that you don’t have to wonder what she might say; it’s already on the tip of your tongue. Now pace the room like your character might, or fidget nervously in your chair. Speak in whispers; speak in shouts. Don’t be embarrassed or self-conscious. Unlike an actor onstage, no one can see you. Each time you perform and revise, you refine and improve your performance.
Years ago, when someone in my critique group said, “You’re not in the scene,” I was terrified. At first, I thought I never could be in the scene, but with time and practice, I was surprised at how effortless it became. Soon it was second nature to me.
Try this simple exercise if you’re afraid you can’t become your character. Pretend you’re a child experiencing your first Christmas tree. Your eyes widen at the sparkling lights. You scramble close on your hands and knees. So many bright baubles. You reach for one, but your parents shout “No!” You can’t believe they won’t let you hold these new toys, so you grab one. Your father wrenches it out of your fist. You cry! Compare this to how you look at the tree as an adult. You ooohhhh. You aaaahhhh. But you know better than to touch those decorations. You know how fragile they are and how much they cost.
Let’s be a child again but older, going to school for the first time. You cling to your mother’s hand. The classroom is huge, with so many tables. One has puzzles, one has clay, and one has snacks—graham crackers. You hate those crackers. And who is this strange lady who bends down and greets you by name? So many other kids here. And you don’t know any of them. You squeeze Mom’s hand tighter. You bury your head in her dress and cry.
Your mother, on the other hand, sees all the activities spread out and thinks what fun you’ll have. And all the potential friends for her child. Why is he crying? What’s scary about this exciting new adventure?
Now make believe you are the child’s grandparent. Wow! All those low nursery-school chairs. If you sit down, how will you get up again? And what about those children racing around? You step back, afraid one might knock you down.
Try pretending you’re the class’s pet rabbit who’s awakened by the sudden activity in the room. What’s all this squealing? And now someone’s poking a finger into your crate. You hover in the corner.
Next, imagine you’re in a hurry and can’t find your car keys. Pretend you’re sitting courtside at a Lakers’ game. Pretend you’re trying to fly a kite, learn how to knit, or high-jump. Pretend; pretend; pretend using all of your senses. The more you do, the less effort it will take to get into your character’s skin and make scenes come alive for your listeners. I know authors who have helped their writing by taking an acting class. You might want to try it.
Still having trouble writing your scene? You might be writing too quickly. Writing a scene involves slowing down and paying attention to each line. Pause to see what else might be happening around your character. Take as much time as you need to play with different possibilities for dialogue and action until you’re sure you’re writing what actually occurred. Here are some sample words and phrases that warn you’re not writing a scene:
These indicate several scenes are clumped together. Sometimes you want that, but watch out. These clumpings aren’t scenes, and most should really be played out individually.
In the same way that life has different rhythms, scenes present different rhythms. We don’t go along with the same emotional and psychological energy every hour of every day. Each twenty-four-hour period offers a unique pattern of high and low points. In strong, successful writing, the listener and reader should not only know intellectually what is happening but also feel it physically and emotionally.
Imagine you are on an African safari. The guide stops for you to take pictures of a lion. You admire his golden fur, fluffy mane, and sleek muscles. Although his eyes are alert, he seems to be relaxing, enjoying the sun. You put down your camera and enjoy the warmth of the sun and the smell of the African savanna. Thoughts ramble through your mind. What a fabulous trip this has been! You remember the last time you saw a lion in the zoo, separated by a deep moat. You were with your children, and they loved growling at the lion in his enclosure. You laughed at their game and their interpretations of the lion’s roaring responses. Then that lion stands, roars, and races towards your vehicle. The guide grabs his gun. Your body tenses. Your mind spins! Would he really attack? Why did you come here? Your breathing quickens. Your heart pounds. You’re on high alert.
Notice what happened. In the beginning, you were relaxed. Your mind had time to contemplate and linger. The sentences were longer to match that lazy mood. However, when the lion attacks, everything changes. The sentences grow shorter, tighter—no time for metaphor or simile. Your writing must echo the energy in the actions of each scene. We’ll discuss how to do this in more detail in chapters fourteen and fifteen.
Before we move on, let’s make sure you understand the difference between a scene and a narrative summary. Write S if it’s a scene and N if it’s a narrative summary.
“Beat you to the car,” Matt said, sticking his foot out and tripping Jon. “Sorry!” he smirked.
Jon rubbed his knee. “I’ll show him.” He pushed himself to stand. “Ow!” He couldn’t believe the pain. He hobbled, cursing under his breath. “I hate, hate, hate Matt.”
Mouse peered out of her hole. He looked left, right. He stepped outside.
Cat pounced.
“Not today,” he said.
Peter dropped Father’s hand. He flung himself onto the floor and sobbed. “You always say that. Why are you so mean?”
Answers: 1. N 2. S 3. S 4. N 5. N 6. S 7. S 8. N
From these examples, you might assume that scenes are always longer than narrative sections. That’s not always true. For example, if you wrote, “Finn was really scared,” you’d be writing a narrative summary. But if you wrote, “‘I’m scared,’ said Finn,” although you’d be using the same number of words, being able to hear Finn’s dialogue means that we’re experiencing it with him. If you got all of the examples right, you’re on your way to understanding that oft-repeated phrase heard in conferences and classes that is our second S.
This phrase admonishes you to write a scene rather than a summary statement. However, “show; don’t tell” applies not only to scenes but also to descriptive phrases. For example, the statement “Our dog was happy to see me” is a telling statement. “Our dog yipped and yapped and leaped up” is specific and therefore shows. It allows the reader to conclude on her own that the dog was happy.
This is not insignificant. Imagine the sentence “Joanne was depressed.” Now pretend we can’t use the word depressed. Describe the action that would make the reader realize she was depressed. Here are five possibilities:
In number one, Joanne isolates herself from others. In number two, she tries to distract herself, to no avail. In number three, she lashes out at others. In number four, she can’t even eat. Lastly, in number five she tries to stop her tears, fails, and fears her depression might last forever. Each response indicates a different kind of character or a different point in her journey.
When you tell, the reader must imagine what your character might do. Showing instead of telling makes you, the writer, define your character and paint a full picture for the reader and listeners of what’s going on. It breathes life into the scene. Every reader brings her own set of experiences and feelings to a book. If you tell instead of show, you give the reader too much power in creating your character.
“Show; don’t tell” also concerns the details you choose for your story.
Too many details will bog down the reader and diminish your story’s momentum, but a specially placed vivid detail can be all the reader needs to be in a scene. Make sure the details in a picture-book description are ones a child would relate to.
For example, “The stadium was huge” is a telling statement. Huge to whom? A mouse would find any stadium huge, even if it had only one chair. Be specific. “The stadium seated 70,000 patrons” is a clear explanation for an adult but not so meaningful to young listeners. “From our high seats in the stadium the players on the field looked smaller than mice” is much easier for a child to visualize.
To make sure you understand this concept of “show; don’t tell,” play around with transforming the following telling statements into showing statements.
So you know you’re on the right track, here are possible answers to compare with your own.
He looked down. “I-I-I,” he stammered. “Do I have to go?”
How did you do here? Do you feel comfortable with the difference between showing and telling? Do you feel secure about writing scenes instead of summaries?
You probably have noticed that writing in scenes and showing instead of telling usually requires more words. Don’t worry if writing in the two Ss initially adds extra words to your picture-book manuscript. Your story can be revised and tightened up. As I noted in the post-quiz discussion, showing doesn’t necessarily increase your word count. “Rabbit was scared” can be shown with “Rabbit hopped away.” No additional words are necessary to present a vivid image.
We’ve covered two of the big general issues in writing. In chapter fourteen we’re going to get more specific about language and consider the advantages of poetic storytelling.
Do you have lots? Good! That means you recognize where you need to revise. You’re well on the road to getting out of lazy writing habits.