NEW FICTION WRITERS ARE “NATURALS” at dialogue and first-person narration. Then comes the first paragraph of pure narrative summary–and their story’s interest level plummets. Why?
It’s one of the many paradoxes for new novelists: you’d think narrative summary was a skill they’d been using for years, and so it is–but they’ve used it almost exclusively in academic papers, reports, case histories, etc. Though it may seem to be the same skill, narrative summary in fiction is a different animal altogether.
Check out these two examples I’ve written:
“An elderly person came in the room to introduce a lawyer who boringly told the attendees to make sure their affairs were in order”
Now the same sentence, strengthened by an infusion of the life blood of fiction, specifics:
“A snowy haired little woman hobbled into the meeting room trailed by today’s speaker, a lawyer–brand new from the look of her–whose voice quivered as she warned the sea of impassive gray faces to be sure their wills were current.”
What did I do, other than add to its word length? Two things mostly:
• I used description–just a touch–for the reader to flesh out the picture. The “elderly person” is now a woman, small, white-haired, and somewhat gimpy. The occasion is a meeting. The lawyer is female, young, and nervous, She’s there to be “today’s speaker.” Her listeners are old, and “impassive,” most likely a tough audience.
• I used verbs that contain precise, specific images of the action they render: “hobbled”…”quivered.” No adverbs necessarily.
• I used phrases that deliver attitude and meaning as well as describe objective images and actions: “brand new from the look of her.”
• I revealed everything I could, as clearly as I could. Notice how the first version–like all over-generalized narrative–does almost the opposite. Rather than reveal, it obscures by hiding the scene behind a screen of words that identify only broad classifications, not vivid particulars, and leaving the reader with more questions than answers.
• “An elderly person” (Man or woman?It’s impossible to tell.)
• “came into” (Came how? On foot, on wheels? dancing, staggering? None of the above? Who knows, the wording tells the reader nothing.)
• “boringly” (How so? Droning monotone? Overly florid rhetorical stye? Sign language? Who knows–it come be any of these or none.)
• “told the attendees” (Told how? And what the heck does an “attendee” look like?) And so on.
In nonfiction, summaries can bolster an argument or give weight to whatever position the writer has taken on an issue. Obviously, “objective,” highly generalized accounts will be preferred; and Intimate views of personalized experience are not what’s preferred.
And yet, it’s the second approach that, in fiction, is not only preferred, but demanded.
Good narrative summary is rich with specific images and attitudes that suggest the kind of behavior and action that a reader can “see.” And THAT is what “show don’t tell” is really all about.
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