In my early writing days, I once stood next to my friend Joey as he read my newly published story about pulp magazines. He politely nodded as I hovered close by, explaining what feelings I had meant to convey in each section he read. When he finished, I recall him saying something kind about the piece. Whether he was being honest or not is between him and God. But importantly, I recall the feeling of knowing that my written words were not capturing the emotion that I had intended.
The problem I faced then is common among new writers. Desperation. It is a big hurdle for new writers to learn that their work should contain intentionality and active consideration for the emotional impact of their words. It is another hurdle to learn how to create the desired emotions on the page. The shortcut many take is to add adverbs and extra phrases that tell readers the intended emotion. Experienced writers, however, understand that this is no better than standing over someone’s shoulder and explaining what you had meant.
Let’s take a look at this section of humorist David Sedaris’ essay Now We Are Five. The story is about the passing of one of the six Sedaris siblings. In this scene, Sedaris finds his father alone in a bedroom at the family beach house, looking through a box of photos that the now deceased sister had torn up.
“Just awful,” my father whispered. “A person’s life reduced to one lousy box.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Actually, there are two of them.”
He corrected himself. “Two lousy boxes.”
It is an excellent scene, full of meaning for both characters that well captures the bittersweet mood of the entire piece. Now let’s take a look at a version where we add adverbs and other modifiers.
“Just awful,” my father whispered sadly. “A person’s life reduced to one lousy box.”
I snarkily put my hand on his shoulder. “Actually, there are two of them.”
With a resigned sigh, he corrected himself. “Two lousy boxes.”
While not offensive, this is an inferior version of the scene. None of the added modifiers create meaning beyond what the details and dialogue had already implied. As we’ve discussed in previous letters, meaning and mood primarily come from choosing the correct details. When you have solid action and dialogue, it is critical not to undercut those elements with redundant modifiers. Whispering “just awful” in the context of discussing a dead loved one is inherently sad. And correcting a trivial detail during a serious moment implies snark. Add on whatever characterization of the two men provided earlier in the essay, and Sedaris’ intent with this scene is plenty clear.
Showing restraint with modifiers is a matter of trusting your audience to fill in the gaps with either their own life experience or the context you have already illustrated. Readers are usually better at this than new writers realize.
Another place where adverbs often lack is in the existence of stronger words with the same meaning.
Extremely big vs giant.
Quickly ran vs sprinted.
Extremely mad vs furious.
Etc.
If concision is a goal in your writing then transforming your adverbs is a good place to make cuts. A good rule of thumb of when to use modifiers then, is when they change the meaning of a verb or phrase rather than intensify them.
Take the sentence, “The monster roared scarily.” There are few sentences less intimidating. It’s like a comedian at an open mic insisting they are funny to a silent crowd. But consider the sentence, “The monster roared fearfully.” Instead of being redundant, it adds an alternative dimension to the action. There is a contrast between the verb roaring and the adverb fearfully. This change alone may not win you a national fellowship, but it adds meaning that the verb itself did not.
On your next round of editing, hit Ctrl + F and search for words that end in “-ly.” See if they feel desperate. If they do, execute them.