I previously talked about some basic guidelines for writing, namely, those to which I subjected the developing Dreamdarkers manuscript.  Not to be confused with some great writ of literary law, the elements to which I referred were in fact constituents of advisable best practices when scripting a narrative.  Since each text would be endowed with a style appropriate for its author, genre, content, audience, and perspective, what I spoke to encompassed nothing more than buffers to be set between rambling gibberish and a presentable novel.  In other words, they were to be chaperons for the mind as the story developed.  They were not, however, task masters.  Unfortunately, and without even realizing it, I allowed myself to become overwhelmed with bookish formality engendered by those very recommendations.

The result?  I would describe it as near inflexible pomposity.

To my chagrin, the last few days saw an increasing employment of strictly regulated prose contrary to the intent and comfortable style I originally set forth as Dave’s technique.  Realizing he is writing the text under specific circumstances and for a specific reason, and admitting his first-person account essentially is… well, to avoid revealing aspects of the story best left for discovery by the readers, I will say the pedantic babble it became strayed significantly from what it should have been.  Allow me to share some examples of what I mean (by description and not specifically from the work).

I avoided ‘to be’ like a bad date.  I wouldn’t even look at it, let alone acknowledge it sat right across the table from me.  While this approach to writing is possible and generally results in a more starched writing style, it fails the reality test when viewed in context.  Likewise, it also gives rise to a certain fastidious fiction that demands a more Jeffersonian audience.

Minimizing contractions turned into avoiding them at all costs.  One approach would be overusing them like Suzanne Brockmann, a case in which every sentence is peppered with can’t and won’t and she’d and they’ll and we’d and all manner of degrading conversational wording.  That is simply too childish and crude.  It reads like an informal letter to someone of lesser intellectual capacity than most adults—and not to put too fine a point on it, like most children.  It feels sloppy and looks sloppy.  The other end of the spectrum is quite different: not using them at all.  That can be done in a formal literary sense.  There are times when it should be done.  For Dave, however, sitting in the middle of that spectrum seems more appropriate, especially given the circumstances for what he is writing and when he is writing it, not to mention his idea of who might ultimately read it.  He is not compelled to write a Dante piece of art; on the other hand, he is compelled to write his tale as quickly as possible while being as thorough as he can.

I have focused tremendous effort on minimizing excessive use of advanced vocabulary.  Just this morning I received an e-mail from my friend Brett in which she said: “I look forward to your first book with great anticipation! I just hope I don’t have to have a dictionary next to me while I read it!!! (That was a shot at my vocabulary, not your writing.)”  But in truth, it is partially an indication of my tendency to push the envelope when it comes to utilizing sometimes impenetrable, often abstruse, esoteric language.  I prided myself on this particular work for limiting such excursions into obscure articulation.  You know I have slipped such words in there from time to time, on a limited basis, to diversify the vocabulary (to avoid repeats) and to offer the reader contextual opportunities to pick up a new word or two.  That is normal.  What disappoints me are the recent moments where trying to follow self-imposed decrees resulted in enigmatic linguistic twaddle.

I am thrilled to say these problems cropped up only in the last few days and involve very limited portions of the book.  The vast majority of what is already written flows comfortably and feels like a conversation with a writer (wherein you would be more likely to hear complex and compound sentences, a limited number of contractions and to-be words, and a smattering of words you wouldn’t normally hear).  What helped me refocus on this matter was a review performed last night.  I stumbled upon a section (specifically, a flashback) that was out of order.  It was part two of a long flashback spread throughout the book, yet I had inexplicably written part two into an area where it occurred before part one.  After shuffling segments around to properly reorient the text and stabilize the intended flow, I perused the remainder of the manuscript on a “just in case” basis.  That is when I stumbled across bits and pieces from the last few days where my ranting about poor writing had forced me dramatically in the opposite direction—and detrimentally so, I might add.

So there is not a huge rewrite necessary.  I need only manhandle 10-15 pages, and even then, not all of what’s on those pages needs to change.  I suspect the total amount to be modified is around a dozen paragraphs.  Minor tweaks in other areas will occur during the second rewrite anyway, so I need not chase down every little sentence added here or there in order to locate and annihilate the offending bits.  They’ll meet their maker in due time.

Although last night I was highly disappointed for succumbing to my own propaganda and allowing it to unconsciously redirect my efforts, my feelings on the episode had changed by this morning such that I laughed at myself and found it all a worthwhile experience.  With a sarcastic yet polite self-chastisement addressed in the wee hours of the day, I am happy to report to you the mistake, explain to you how it occurred, offer a self-deprecating guffaw (sorry you missed it, but at least now you know it happened), and assure you the book is on track and will be offered in a style appropriate for mass consumption—let alone appropriate for the circumstances of the tale itself.