Craft Quickie: Pesky Participle Phrases (“-ing” sentences)

Incorrectly used participle and participle phrases are the most common grammatical mistakes to cross my desk. I understand authors are trying to vary their sentence structure, but it’s important these varied structures are used correctly. Incorrectly used participles tend to be indicative of more pervasive grammar problems.

And that’s the last thing you want an editor thinking when he or she settles in to read your manuscript.

I’ll start by clarifying the difference between a participle and a gerund.

What I’m NOT talking about:

Gerund: A gerund is a verb that ends in -ing and functions as a noun.

Writing is my drug of choice.

Coloring the sky purple would be easier than trying to convince my son it’s blue.

Gerunds can be overused, but are far less likely to be used incorrectly. Carry on, gerund lovers!

What I AM talking about:

Participle: A participle is a verb ending in -ing (present) or -ed, -en, -d, -t, -n, or -ne (past) that functions as an adjective, modifying a noun or pronoun. A participle phrase consists of a participle plus modifier(s), object(s), and/or complement(s).

Participle:

Grumbling, I turned on my computer.

Participle phrase:

Grumbling over the injustice of working on a Sunday, I turned on my computer.

Participles and participle phrases are often overused by authors in their quest to avoid subject-led sentences. This is far more interesting than another “I” sentence, right? The key here is moderation. Try not to use more than one per page, if that. Participle phrases create a certain rhythm in prose that pops out to readers. Too much popping out becomes a distraction.

LESSON: There are two ways to butcher a participle/participle phrase.

• Less common: The author does not clearly state the noun he or she is modifying immediately after the participle or participle phrase, creating a dangling modifier.

Grumbling over the injustice of working on a Sunday, my computer clicked on.

While this works if you’re using personification (attribution of personality to an impersonal thing), this totally changes the meaning of the sentence. It’s no longer me complaining—it’s the computer. Personification aside, since the computer can’t logically grumble, our participle/participle phrase becomes a dangling modifier because it’s not modifying the correct noun in the sentence.

Do not allow your participles and participle phrases to dangle.

• Most common: The continuation of the sentence cannot occur simultaneously.

Grumbling over the injustice of working on a Sunday, I shouted for my kids to pop in a movie and called my boss to get an update on our project.

I can’t possibly grumble while also yelling at my kids and talking to my boss. Far more egregious examples cross my desk on a regular basis, which I’ll attempt to recreate here:

• Stomping across the room, I sat in my chair and pounded out an email to Marsha.
• Darting down the steps and across the yard, she threw herself into Micah’s arms as soon as he emerged from the car.
• Swallowing her danish, Christa barked out a laugh and said, “Are you serious?”
• Lifting a talon, he caressed her cheek.
• Kicking off the sandals, I left them on the porch and wandered along the weed-ridden sidewalk.

Here’s an example that DOES work:

Grumbling over the injustice of working on a Sunday, I turned on my computer, leaned back in my chair, and rubbed my throbbing temples.

Make sure everything that follows a participle or participle phrase can happen simultaneously.

BONUS LESSON: Fight scenes

I see a lot of butchered participles and participle phrases in fight scenes.

• Spinning around, Gabe’s fist greeted the demon’s jaw as he sliced the vampire’s head off.

This is an especially egregious example because it incorporates both incorrect usages. Did Gabe’s fist spin around, or did Gabe? And how the heck can he do all three of these things at the same time?? Very rarely do I see participles and participle phrases used correctly in a fight scene, so pay close attention to those!

As always, if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to comment below.

Craft Quickie: Adverbaholics Anonymous

As Stephen King famously said in On Writing, “The road to hell is paved with adverbs. To put it another way, they’re like dandelions.”

Even if the thought of stumbling headlong into Hades doesn’t scare you, anyone with a lawn knows about the evil that lurks in the petals of Satan’s favorite flower. When those cute yellow blossoms explode into even cuter white puffballs, all hell breaks loose.

Adverbs = dandelions.

On that note, a little quiz.

Adverbs are:

• a) a writer’s best friend
• b) indicative of poor writing
• c) complicated
• d) all of the above

I believe the answer is d, and here’s why.

Sometimes, a single adverb accomplishes what it would’ve taken the author an entire sentence to convey. Succinct writing is great for impact moments. Use them sparingly.

Adverbs are also fantastic for fast drafting. If contemplating fresh descriptions throws you out of your 7k per day groove, use an adverb as a placeholder. They’ll help you remember how a scene felt long after the twelve pots of coffee you drank while writing it wear off.

A word of caution, however. Just like dandelions, adverbs grow thick roots when left undisturbed. Serious weeding is needed if you plan to get those suckers out of your manuscript.

And that’s only if you can find them.

See, for many novice writers, adverbs are like miniature Klingon warships, zipping around your manuscript with their cloaking devices activated. They hide in plain sight until an agent or editor requests a partial, and then BAM—they drop their cloak and wave their little “-ly” appendages like pirates toting skull and crossbones flags. We hates them, precious.

It may take a few fresh sets of eyes (critique partners are worth their weight in chocolate, I swear), but eventually, you’ll find every last one of those tricksy adverbs. Which brings me to what I believe is the most enjoyable part of writing:

Empowering your writing.

Let’s look at a few examples:

Notice the complete lack of personality in this sentence:

Jared hurriedly put the stack of books in his car and quickly drove down wet streets to the library.

I don’t particularly care why Jared’s in a hurry because the sentence is boring. Make me care. Maybe the library closes in half an hour, he’s too poor to pay library fines, and he’s got a stack of books due?

Jared chucked the stack of books in his car and raced to the library like his hair was on fire and only the raindrops hurtling through the open window could save him.

A little wordy, yes, but at least now we’ve got some personality! Jared is a brash individual with a strong sense of responsibility when it comes to library books (though not pedestrians). I’ll read about a guy like him.

Here’s another:

Michelle smiled widely at the hunky lifeguard.

Is it just me or does “smiled widely” sound like someone’s mouth is being forced to stretch beyond its means?

Michelle flashed the hunky lifeguard her brightest come-and-get-me grin.

Now I want to know what Michelle’s up to. The motivation in a “come-and-get-me” grin is clear, whereas “smiling widely” could mean anything from he has a strategically placed hole in his board shorts, to someone spelling “Splash Me” in sunscreen on his back.

This is a personal favorite of my husband’s, which he uses to torment me:

The sidewalk glistened wetly.

Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh. Let’s just choose something simplistic, shall we?

The wet sidewalk glistened.

If you consider this an alteration of voice, you’re partially correct. A particular bestselling author uses adverbs freely in her writing style, however unless you’re poised to become the next NYT Bestselling Bazillionaire, good luck arguing your love of adverbs with an editor. As I tell all my authors, a solid commercial voice is what’s left when an author’s bad habits are pared away.

And in this editor’s humble opinion, overusing adverbs is a bad habit. Period.

There is hope for Adverbaholics. If you haven’t heard of Margie Lawson, I encourage you to check out her workshops (online and in person) and workshop packets. I had the pleasure of spending a weekend in one of Margie’s immersion workshops in Portland last year, and can’t recommend her Empowering Characters’ Emotions enough. She’ll teach you to weed out all the dandelions and what to replace them with.

You’ll never write the same way again. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll make the difference in your writing career. It did mine.

Craft Quickie: Dialogue tag abuse

Benjamin Franklin said, “The only things certain in life are death and taxes.”

I’m here to add an addendum to ol’ Benny-boy’s claim. If you’re a fiction editor or writer, dialogue tag abuse is equally certain.

You heard me right—every single writer abuses dialogue tags at some point in their writing process. Multi-published authors. Newbies. Me. You. We all do it.

The catch? Mature writers know how to edit instances of dialogue tag abuse from their manuscripts before said manuscript sees the light of day, let alone an agent or editor’s inbox. If you don’t know what to fix, chances are your writing isn’t getting the attention you’d like it to receive.

Fortunately, I’m here to help. Let’s start with dialogue tags that should be stricken from your manuscripts immediately, shall we?

ABANDON SHIP, ABANDON SHIP!!

• answered
• explained
• interrupted
• replied
• responded
• interjected
• insisted
• reiterated
• began

Why am I making you cut these tags? Aside from giving editors a terminal case of the Eye Rolls, you should never use them because they’re obvious. If you character is responding to a question/expounding on the craptastic nature of their current situation, we know they’re answering/responding/replying/explaining. If your character cuts someone off mid-sentence, they’re clearly interrupting. Chiming in with a comment doesn’t need to be pointed out either—that’s what people do when they converse.  If someone is reiterating their point, we know they’re being stubborn. In other words, using these tags tells us what you’ve (hopefully) just shown in dialogue. Don’t do it.

Related to the above, the following dialogue tag should be eliminated 9 times out of 10:

• asked

With the rare exception of differentiating which character in a group is speaking (and for some freaky reason, you can’t do it with incidental action), we don’t need this tag because a sentence ending in a question mark is, in fact, a question. Don’t tell us someone asked when we just watched them do it.

For example:

A poor choice:

The math wing loomed in front of them. “Why are we doing this again?” Lisa asked.

“Because our counselor said we had to,” Josh answered. He dragged Lisa toward class. “You want to graduate, don’t you?”

“But I don’t see why–” Lisa began.

“Save it,” Josh interrupted. “I’m just as pissed about this as you are.”

“I’m just saying,” Lisa insisted, digging in her heels. “Calculus isn’t going to do me any good at Juilliard. Why bother?”

A better choice:

The math wing loomed in front of them. Lisa shuddered. “Why are we doing this again?”

Josh rolled his eyes. “Because our counselor said we had to. You want to graduate, don’t you?”

“But I don’t see why–”

“Save it.” Josh grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the classroom. “I’m just as pissed about this as you are.”

Lisa scowled at the chipped blue door—the only thing standing between her and math hell—and dug in her heels. “I’m just saying. Calculus isn’t going to do me any good at Juilliard. Why bother?”

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DANGER, WILL ROBINSON.
Next up, a handful of extremely overused and abused dialogue tags that may surprise you.

• snarled
• hissed
• chuckled
• growled
• sobbed
• smirked
• shrugged
• nodded
• laughed
• spat
• squealed (thanks, Monica!)

Yes, countless published authors use these as dialogue tags, and yes, you’ll probably get away with them if you write romance. That doesn’t make them right, nor should you strive to match a less-than-optimal style of writing. Why?

Because none of these words have anything to do with dialogue (though Merriam-Webster begs to differ in a couple of cases). They’re actions, not a means of speaking.

Think about it. Can you really growl words? Snarl them? I dare you to chuckle the next word you say—it’s not easy, nor is it the natural reaction authors would have you believe (though it’s certainly possible to speak WHILE chuckling). And unless you’re fond of alliteration and love “s” words, you can’t hiss a word. There’s no way to shrug, nod, or smirk a word, either.

So why do so many authors use these?

To set the tone of a scene and to make sure the reader understands what the characters are saying, they say.

Red flag #1: There are countless ways to create mood without telling someone how they should interpret your dialogue. Why not ground your reader using action instead? You’ll also build stronger characterization this way. HINT: ALL of these words can be used in action.

Red flag #2: If your dialogue isn’t self-explanatory, you need new dialogue. Go read HILLS LIKE WHITE ELEPHANTS by Ernest Hemingway and marvel over the sheer lack of tags in a story told primarily in dialogue.

For example:

A poor choice:

“I hate calculus,” Lisa growled from where she lay pouting on Josh’s bed. “I’m never setting foot in that classroom again.”

“It’s your future,” Josh shrugged dismissively.

A better choice:

Lisa threw herself onto Josh’s bed and tried to smother herself with his pillow, but the damn thing was too flat to do any damage. She chucked it at the wall. “I hate calculus. I’m never setting foot in that classroom again.”

Josh shrugged and went back to his homework. “It’s your future.”

↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔↔

PROCEED WITH CAUTION…

Writers are regularly told to use stronger verbs and, often, dialogue tags fall victim to that advice.

• grumbled
• muttered
• murmured
• whined
• shouted
• snapped
• cried
• sighed
• added (thanks Monica!)

Are these stronger verbs than “said”? Yes, they are. However, when overused, these dialogue tags do more harm to your writing than good.

Observe.

A poor choice:

“My counselor is delusional,” Lisa grumbled when she stomped into the kitchen. Her mother sipped her tea. “I’m going to Juilliard, not Harvard—the admissions board isn’t going to care whether I flunked some lame math class!” she shouted and sat next to her mother.

“Grades used to be so important to you,” her mother sighed, then set her cup down. “I’d hate to think Josh had something to do with this,” she added.

“Leave Josh out of it,” Lisa snapped. The suck up was probably bent over his calculus homework that very moment.

“Lisa,” her mother murmured. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just worry about how serious things are getting between you two. He has a lot of… influence on you these days.”

A better choice:

Lisa stomped into the kitchen where her mother sat sipping her evening tea, and slammed her bag onto the counter.  ”My counselor is delusional,” she said, flopping onto the stool beside her mother. “I’m going to Juilliard, not Harvard—the admissions board isn’t going to care whether I flunked some lame math class!”

Her mother set her mug on the counter and sighed. “Grades used to be so important to you. I’d hate to think Josh had something to do with this.”

“Leave Josh out of it,” Lisa snapped. He was probably bent over his freaking calculus homework that very moment, the suck up.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” Her mother cupped Lisa’s cheeks in her palms, still warm from cradling the mug of tea. “I just worry how serious things are getting, you know? He has a lot of… influence on you these days.”

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GO FORTH, WRITER FRIENDS!

Lots to think about, yes? Give yourself a few hours to digest the information, then open your file(s) and get to work. If you have any questions, feel free to post them below. I’m here to help!

Craft Quickie: Step away from the sequel…

DISCLAIMER: Any time you put words on the page, be it an unwarranted sequel or something completely new, you’re honing your craft. Nothing you write is a waste of time. For the sake of this Craft Quickie, I will be addressing unwarranted sequels from the perspective of authors in search of a publishing contract.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

We’ve all heard this before.

If you write a sequel before the first book sells, you’re putting the cart before the horse. Don’t do it.

When many of us set out to write a series pre-publication, we have multi-book contracts—not honing our craft—on the brain. Unfortunately, putting the cart before the horse like this usually leads to frustration, not book contracts. With so many authors writing sequels prior to landing an agent/editor, I have to believe maybe some don’t know the WHY of this rule.

Here are the two primary reasons you should step away from the sequel until you have the blessing of either your agent or your editor:

1. You may not sell the first book. There’s nothing more painful than trunking a novel you love, and that pain is doubled when having to trunk two.
2. If you do sell the first book (YAY!), the edits you’ll make with your shiny new editor may substantially affect the series. As in, you’ll probably have to rewrite the sequel anyway. From scratch, even, depending on what elements are tweaked in edits.

An author who refuses to make changes to their first book because they don’t want to mess up the completed sequel is committing series suicide. Your first book must satisfy and appeal to readers, and your editor will do everything in their power to make sure that happens. If you aren’t willing to consider their suggestions because of an unhealthy attachment to a sequel, there’s a very good chance your publisher won’t pick up that second book—or any of your other books, for that matter.

Is it worth that risk?

I can’t begin to count how many queries I’ve received that offer up completed sequels to the book I’m considering as if that’ll sway my decision. It doesn’t and won’t. I’d much rather work with an author who has a general idea of where their series is going, and is open to developing it using my input from the first book.

But what if it’s already too late? What if your series is complete? What then?

You’re fine, just don’t brag about the fact to agents/editors you’ve queried. Just remember, no sequel is a guarantee. If your first book isn’t received well by readers and/or reviewers, you may not get a second chance with that series. Focus on the first book. Be open to what your editor says and be willing to substantially revise the sequels if the edits—and the market—call for it.

In the meantime, don’t waste your time and creativity on sequels that might never see an editor’s desk. Write as many new books as you can. Hone your voice. Find the genre(s) that showcase your talents best. Save the sequel talk for when you’ve landed the agent/editor of your dreams, and the fantasy of a second book becomes a possibility.  You’ll need as many fresh ideas as possible to get your foot in the door. When an agent or editor asks what else you have to offer, you want to be ready!