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For
example:
She
slapped him, hard. "You disgust me!" She'd never been so angry
with any man in her life, or so appalled. How could he believe she'd do
that…unless her past had caught up with her again?
Let's
face it, most of the final two sentences are unnecessary, aren't they?
You're not going to slap a man unless you are furious, or appalled. So
this is not depth, it's an explanation in case the editor or judge is
too dumb to understand that a face slap means anger—or it's a
"filler" sentence for a writer who's short on words and taking
the quick way out.
So, how
to add depth while avoiding fillers? Ask the questions.
Okay,
I'll re-write that one paragraph now, asking the questions and hopefully
answering them, to give life to an act that is seen as passé these
days, and make it compelling instead.
She
stood before him, all five-four of her squaring up to his looming
strength as he towered over her in the quiet of the dusky garden, and,
without warning, she slapped him. Hard. "You disgust me." His
quirky, confident smile faded; his cheek reddened while the rest of his
face grew hard and cold, concrete resisting the jackhammer. She dragged
in a harsh breath, sucking air in till her lungs felt ready to explode.
The gentle jasmine scent was almost obscene in her nostrils as she
waited for the words to come, the mocking ridicule of a man unable to
believe he wouldn't be the next in line. So it was back again, the
reap-what-she'd-sown consequences of one stupid act. Damn it, she'd been
all of seventeen, and it still dragged behind her like a road ganger's
chain.
The first
paragraph was two lines. It showed an act, and told how she felt. My
version is six lines longer, but I think (hope!) it answers the
questions, and, in one paragraph–just one, in a whole book–I've gone
from 37 words to 135. In my version I've added subtle touches, like an
artist's paintbrush, to make this scene live. Sights, sounds, scent,
action and reaction…and I've gone right inside her mind for her
emotions, not just told how she felt. I gave the past without delving
into a flashback, and set up a whole new avenue for a storyline. What
secret is in her past? I don't know yet, but I do want to find out what
act has ruined her life–don't you? To me, this is emotional depth,
showing, not telling. I have answered the questions I need to, and
hopefully opened the way for more questions, leading the reader on to
find out what has happened to this girl. Instead of just one act, you
create a world within a world, a scene with a life all its own, with its
own tension and emotion, and giving depth to a heroine who is really
performing an act that is seen as outdated. A paragraph that could just
be a lazy "filler" for quick drama now becomes a bridge for
the emotional roller coaster to continue.
This is
an example of how I work. I usually do this as a complete draft: I
"seatz" the first draft, writing the bare bones of my story.
Then I use another draft to cut down repeated stuff or adverbs or tags
(he said, she said, etc, when an action can be used instead), then I do
this draft, and in my opinion, the most vital of all: the beautifying
draft. This is the life-giving draft, the most essential part of my
work, to lift a plot from the everyday to the living, breathing story I
want to present to my editors. This is my kind of emotional depth.
To
learn how to add emotional depth, to paint
vivid
pictures with a few sketched words, click the article links on
the top left of this page.
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