The Art of Fiction:
T.M.I.

Nearly every Friday, three neighbors and I meet for cocktails at one of our homes. Most often, it’s my house, because, unlike A, I don’t have small children; unlike B’s, my husband is not recovering from surgery; and unlike C’s, my husband seldom arrives home from work before 6 pm.

Are you hooked? Do you want to hear more about the Cocktail Ladies? Or did you get lost somewhere between A and C? Writing (like life) requires a delicate dance between what’s important to the story and everything else: all that extraneous Other Stuff. We may think the Other Stuff makes the story – and sometimes, we’re right. But often, Other Stuff = T.M.I.: too much information. The question is, how do you know when enough is enough?

Walking the Line

For an example, let’s drop in on a story I just made up.

I walked into the restaurant and nearly bumped into the hostess stand. The girl behind it was on the phone so I had a chance to study her and all her piercings: lips, nose, one eyebrow, and multiple earholes of various sizes. Her hair was as white as cotton balls and her lips were painted purple. The fingernails that tapped against the phone were black, with some tiny gold design I couldn’t quite see. Her dress was –

Okay. Hold on a second. Is this girl important to the story? I mean, I may be having a blast describing every last bit of her, but if she’s just a walk-on, the piercings – and perhaps her hair and lip colors – are enough for a reader to fill in the rest. If I keep adding details, the reader will have to repeatedly stutter-step to readjust her own picture of the girl. Plus, the longer I go on, the longer the action is delayed, removing the reader still more from the story.

Now, let’s listen in on someone talking. (I’m making this up, too. But it’s true, of course. All fiction is.)

Then she said she didn’t mean it. Well, of course she meant it. She wouldn’t have said it if she didn’t mean it. She knew how I’d take it and she meant for me to take it that way, knowing full well she’d say she didn’t mean it as soon as she was certain I had.

Now, in this case, the repetitions serve not only to establish the voice, but they move the story forward. Plus, they reveal character, conflict, and situation.

A Good Cut is Hard to Find

Last, in this example, the voice does all of the above, but it goes on a hair too long. See if you can find where I should cut this paragraph off.

Oliver Wendell built that rocker for me. You remember Oliver Wendell – he lived next door to us on Virginia? His wife was a night owl and if you went up to the house during the day all the curtains were shut like somebody had died. Oliver was sweet on me – I was pretty when I was younger. You wouldn’t know it to look at me now – no, don’t argue with me. I’m old and that’s all there is to it. Look at these wrinkles and these age spots and how thin my hair is at the top of my head, and see how my arms are all droopy?

As usual, I have a hard time writing bad examples, but I’d argue that the last sentence is a sentence too far. Read the example again without it, and you’ll see what I mean. Let the reader draw her own picture, and the story will come alive in her imagination.

There’s nothing wrong with having fun describing every inch of that restaurant hostess or transcribing every word a character utters. Just remember that when it’s time for revision, T.M.I. = Time to Move It along, and cut, cut, cut.

Don’t forget to take a look at Dream It, Write It, the class I’ll be offering through Authorlink’s new WritersEducation.com site beginning July 11th. There’s also much that’s new at my website, www.lisalenardcook.com. Stop by and say hello.