Defending the Much-Maligned Adverb

I feel like a wee ant going up against a colossus, but today’s post is about something which bugs me. So, here goes. Fashion goes in cycles – one year something is in, the following year, it’s out. Education also promotes various initiatives which find favor for a while, before being discarded. Literary style is no different. If you take a writing course or read any of the numerous books on writing fiction, one piece of advice you'll come across is remove your adverbs and replace them with stronger verbs.

The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton

(Page 1, paragraph 1, sentence 1.)

The twelve men congregated in the smoking room of the Crown Hotel gave the impression of a party accidentally met.

(Winner of the Man Booker prize 2013. P.S. She also used ‘bodily’ in the second sentence.)

If you challenge this current wisdom, you’ll hear that adverbs tell, and don’t show, that they bog down and over-complicate whatever it is you are trying to say. Adverbs are the tools of the weak and the lazy.

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

(Page 1 paragraph 3)

Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday....

 (This book heads Wikipedia’s list of the bestselling books of all time – with over 100 million copies sold. P.S. The same paragraph has another two adverbs – supernaturally and lately.)

When studying English grammar, first nouns and adjectives, then verbs and adverbs are the normal order in which we teach these parts of speech to young children. We wouldn’t dream of saying, adverbs describe verbs, but you must never use them in writing, though you can when you’re talking to each other. So why are writers informed that this particular part of speech is not welcome at the literary dining table?

Harvest by Jim Crace

(Page 1, paragraph 1.)

It rises in a column that hardly bends or thins until it clears the canopies.

(Booker prize short list 2013)

I understand the modern penchant for concise prose ala Hemingway and that long descriptive passages are no longer in vogue, and if the advice given was to use adverbs sparingly, I’d agree without reservation – but to eliminate? Isn’t this a tad drastic?

We are told to make our verbs work harder. An image springs to mind: a brawny overseer, with a flashing 'Word Police' sign emblazoned on his uniform, wielding a razor tipped whip over a group of cowering verbs. These abject sinners, marked with that telltale ‘ly’, are lined up against the wall and, without a second thought, executed.

Will adjectives will be the next in line? Maybe the new wisdom will be don’t use more than one at any given time? For the moment adjectives have a reprieve. Although I do wonder how the sentence snot-nose, tousled-haired, raggedy Ann dressed orphan would be received by the anti-adverb posse?

The Old Man of the Sea by Earnest Hemingway

(Page 1 paragraph 1)

...the old man was now definitely and finally...

In their defense, adverbs are versatile. They modify adjectives and verbs, and function as transitional conjunctive adverbs between two independent clauses in a sentence (however, nonetheless, etc., etc.). I have noticed that most articles deriding their use are sprinkled with them. Henry James loved adverbs, and although Stephen King dislikes them, he still uses them.

Joyland by Stephen King

(Page 1 paragraph 1)

The only thing, actually.

(Joyland was published in 2013.)

You know by now where I’m headed with this post. I’ve done my best to show that past and present writers, whose works literary critics and the public hold up as examples in terms of style, content and popularity made use of the humble, much-maligned adverb. And just to emphasize my point, I’ve added this last example.

Life after Life by Kate Atkinson

(Page 1 Paragraph 2)

Everyone knew that he preferred his women demure and wholesome, Bavarian preferably.

(Booker prize short list 2013. P.S. There are three in paragraph 3 – softly, manly, currently, and two in paragraph 4 – slowly, eventually.)

In conclusion, adverbs are part of our language, therefore how can we write stories which reflect life without using them? Instead of banning, shouldn’t we employ them judiciously? If we treat them like precious gems rather than pariahs, they will serve to enhance our writing.

Writing Update

I'm 10,000 words into the first draft of Book Three of my paranormal urban fantasy, Samsara. I've been following James Paterson's advice about planning, which is, if you put more work put into the outline, the writing becomes easier. So far, I'm happily achieving my daily goal of 1,500 words a day for six days of the week (I occasionally have to stop to clear a path to the door, and the day off is flexible, allowing me a little space if anything untoward crops up.) Getting on with the writing, as opposed to editing and outlining makes me feel as if I'm making some solid progress.

Today’s Haiku

raucous dawn chorus

pine trees stand to attention

pale gold sun rises

Useful Links

An article defending the adverb:

http://languagelog.ldc.upenn.edu/nll/?p=4487

And an article in defense of difficult books:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/04/17/in-defense-of-difficult-b_n_5128657.html

Join me on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/@tegankearney

Or check out my new pinterest boards:https://uk.pinterest.com/teagankearney/

If you're a Wattpad member, I have several short stories posted on the site: https://www.wattpad.com/teagankearney

Thanks for visiting my blog, and please do leave a comment.

To all story lovers out there, good reading, and to those of you who write, good writing. 

Rubbing Shoulders with Val McDermid

Although I’ve always been an avid reader, I admit this was my first book festival. Previously, time, opportunity, and desire hadn’t combined to facilitate such an endeavour, but, as a New Year’s resolution, I promised myself this year would be different. So at the beginning of May, after six hours of bus travel that included a quick trip across the North West Highlands, I sat in Ullapool village hall, surreptitiously observing other participants and waiting for the speaker.

After a lively talk, I stood outside stretching my legs and enjoying the long northern evening. Even though it was eight o’clock, the sun still shone on the cherry blossom trees lining the street.

‘Do you write?’ I asked the sprightly man standing next to me.

‘Oh, yes, poetry and such. I like playing with words.’

And so the conversation continued as I talked about my efforts at self-publishing. It wasn’t till I saw his picture in the brochure I realized I’d been talking to Ian Stephen, whose first book was a 2014 book of the year in the Guardian and Herald newspapers. Declaring your ignorance of someone’s work to their face is embarrassing, but I did gain an important insight as to how the Ullapool Book Festival works.

Ullapool is a tiny coastal village on the west of Scotland with a picturesque backdrop of snow tipped mountains on one side and cobalt blue sea on the other. It's on the tourist route for cyclists, walkers, climbers etc., and caters well for visitors. Many book festival attendees are regulars, and have attended for years. The atmosphere is relaxed and friendly, and the volunteers, who are the backbone of the festival, are enthusiastic, and do their best to oblige whatever request you make of them.

Over the next two days, I listened to writers from South Africa, Malaysia, Ireland, and Canada. Scottish writers, novelists and poets, writing in Gallic and English were also well represented. All the speakers had received critical acclaim, and many were recipients of prestigious awards either from the UK or from their respective countries. I admit I hadn’t read any of their novels or heard of them - except Val McDermid, who has appeared on television. However, as I don’t read crime fiction, I hadn’t read any of her books either. Despite my non-existent relationship to the writers or their books, I thoroughly enjoyed listening to them talk about their novels.

Most speakers attended every session and stood in queues with the rest of us, which was how I got chatting, along with others, to Val McDermid. Val came across as a frank, open, and a what you see is what you get kind of person despite the large number of awards she has won, and we shared jokes of various experiences queuing in other parts of the world. I found her talk the most relevant as she spoke more about her writing processes than the other writers, and is a prolific series writer.

In conclusion, as a PR exercise for authors, and a chance to rub shoulders dusted with glamorous praise by the critics, I think book festivals are a good thing. When writers discuss their books, they reveal the love they put into their writing. I came away thinking about how hard these writers work to tell their stories, which, in turn, increased my determination to tell mine.

Will I go again? Possibly - it’ll depend on which writer is appearing. Will I attend any others, such as the Edinburgh Book Festival, which is easier to get to though situated in a less scenic setting? Same answer. Will I visit Ullapool again? Most definitely. I enjoyed hearing these writers speak, but I fell in love with Ullapool, and will most certainly visit again.

But one thing is sure; if I ever attend another book festival, I’ll never, ever, ask anyone if they write.

Writing Update

I’m slowly digesting the fact that I’ve finished the first draft of Book Two in my Samsara Trilogy, but before I put it to sleep, I’m bugged by the urge to adjust the inciting incident. Should I do that now, as it could open a Pandora’s box that may take more than just a bit of tweaking to fix, or leave it till I return refreshed to embark on the odyssey of editing?  Or am I just experiencing a certain reluctance to leave an internal landscape I’ve inhabited for the last so many hours, days and months?

Other projects sitting on the back burner are two nano novels; I could make a start on a screenplay I want to turn into a novel; update the website; and there’s always the marketing and PR activities that accompany an indie writer.

Lurking in the shadows are my de-cluttering goals.  I’d stopped talking about my spare room, but it’s back on the agenda as I can’t claim the more pressing need to write as an excuse anymore. I want to paint the living room etc., etc. Then there’s the garden where a machete might be more practical than a hoe.

So there’s plenty of work to do. First, though, I have to firm up my will, grit my teeth, and say goodbye to Tatya, Vanse and Angelus, reassuring them, and myself, it’s only temporary, and I’ll be back soon. In the meantime there’s the cover to consider ... though the thought of doing absolutely nothing for a few days is increasingly attractive.

Today’s Haiku

BAD KARMA

writer envy strikes

a small stabbing pinch - cripples

creativity

Useful Links:

www.ullapoolbookfestival.co.uk

Join me on Twitter at: teagankearney@modhaiku

Thanks for visiting my blog, and please do leave a comment.

To all story lovers out there, good reading, and to those of you who write, good writing.

DRIVING IN BENGAL

I love travelling: the journey and the destination. I relish that feeling of being in between - that time after leaving one place and before arriving in the next. Knowing there is nothing I can do till I reach my goal, gives me a sense of freedom from the usual worries and anxieties. In February I decided a trip to India was just what I needed, and today’s post recounts one of my recent experiences while travelling.

 DRIVING IN BENGAL

The journey to Kolkata airport, where I was to board a plane back to the UK, will take four and a half hours. This isn’t because where I'm staying with friends is that far away – in fact it 's a mere one hundred and fifty kilometres – but because of the dire state of the roads.

My flight departure time is 08.55, which means arriving at the airport by 06.55 to clear customs and security. This dictates I start my journey by 2 am – just to allow for the unforeseen, which is always a good thing to remember whether in India or Iceland.

When the alarm goes off at 1am, I stagger to the bathroom for a quick cold sluice off - no hot water available - a sure fire way to get the adrenaline flowing. Going outside at ten to two, where the temperature is a comfortable twenty-three degrees as opposed to the daily thirty odd degrees, I spot the booked taxi with the driver asleep on the front seat. I wonder if he’s parked there all night? After rapping for several minutes on the window, he wakes. Ten minutes later, I’ve said goodbye to my dear friends, flop in the back of the taxi with my brain in a stupor, and away we drive.

Speed isn’t a problem; to be honest I don’t remember seeing a speed limit at any point on this journey, or any other I undertook in India. The road is dark – no street lights – with the odd pallid yellow bulb strung outside an individual home, silhouetting shapes of the surrounding lush foliage. We soon reach five miles an hour and stay between five and twenty for the next two and three quarter hours. The reason? Well, the bumps, potholes and ridges that pit the dirt track will crack the axle like a piece of sugar cane being juiced in a grinder if we go any faster. To manoeuvre round, over, and past these obstacles the driver weaves a complicated pattern of avoidance – a skill which saves the car, but slows our forward progress to a crawl. The constant sideways swinging of the car feels like a ride on the teacups at the fair, and precludes any thoughts of napping.

Forty-five minutes later, we navigate on to the main highway where we meet one major hindrance. In my naivety, I’d thought the early drive would work in my favour, as there’d be less traffic. My outward journey had been in the middle of the afternoon, when I’d learnt the true meaning of the phrase ‘traffic congestion’. But I soon discover the sub-continent’s trucking industry is a twenty-four hour business. Drivers live in their trucks - and not just when they’re hauling goodness knows what from A to B. Here trucks are a different species. Often decorated with multi-coloured lights, always overloaded, they lurch from side to side, resembling elephants, and invariably occupy the centre of the road as they lumber along. In places they form a solid cavalcade of behemoths trundling through the night.

Overtaking is common, and as with all driving in India, is accompanied by a honking of horns – which means anything and everything. ‘I’m coming through and you’d better get out of my way.’ ‘Just in case you can’t see me, I’m here.’ ‘Move.’ ‘Watch out.’ Honking accompanies every road action: when coming up behind another vehicle, when approaching another vehicle, when overtaking another vehicle, on spotting a pedestrian, a cyclist, a scooter or motor bike; i.e. a constant discordant audio accompaniment you soon learn to tune out.

I spot a number of breakdowns, and as we speed (using the word loosely here) past puzzled drivers shining torches at the dark underbelly of their beasts. I wish them luck – no Green Flag time guarantees out here. My trusty driver overtakes when feasible, and while oblivious to any notion of the Highway Code, isn’t reckless.

Suddenly we hit a dust storm. Not an actual Dorothy in Kansas or Saharan sand storm, but there are so many trucks and the road so dry that the difference is minimal. I see nothing in front, to the side or behind but swirling clouds of brown dust. The driver – not sure what he’s popping into his mouth, but they do the job of keeping him awake – slows to three miles an hour, turns on the bright headlights and indicators to make our presence visible.

Seatbelts appear optional. Not just the wearing of them, but having them installed in a vehicle. Several taxis I took had no seatbelts, and no driver worth his salt would be seen using one. But at this point I fasten mine.

After fifteen minutes we exit the blinding dust and resume our journey through the dark early hours of the morning. Now and then a cyclist, without lights, and sometimes with a cart attached behind the bicycle looms out of the darkness, and we swerve sharply to prevent any Grand Theft Auto style killings.

One particular stretch is potholed so generously that all sense of traffic direction disappears. Vehicles zigzag from one side to the other to avoid the gaping holes, resulting in a free for all in terms of which side of the road is going in which direction. The constant lack of rules is so outrageous to my European sensitivities that all I can do is stare in stunned amusement.

 At last, as the early vestiges of dawn grey the subtropical skyline, we approach the outskirts of Kolkata, and rural driving chaos is replaced by urban driving chaos. I had seen a few traffic lights in some of the cities I visited, but saw drivers paying attention to them on no more than a couple of occasions. The consensus appears to be that whatever the lights indicate, it’s not important enough to warrant taking any notice. This way the traffic flow is never compromised, merely interrupted, as cars who wish to join the flow wait for that one second gap, before nudging their vehicles forward into the moving stream which parts and flows round the new entrant till it merges with the rest. The one saving grace of Indian traffic is the pace it moves at is slow enough that the expected mayhem doesn’t materialize as anticipated.

I know Indian men have a bad reputation in their behavior towards women, but I found both men and women, polite, always helpful and treated me with a genuine warmth. The conditions of absolute poverty in which many exist is hard to comprehend, and I'm sad to leave this fascinating country, but it would take more time than I've got to explore all the places I want to see.

Sooner than expected, we reach my destination. I thank the driver, take one last look at the sky - the sun, bringing with it heat, bright sunshine and another day of hard work for most Indians, will leap above the horizon at any minute - and with my suitcase rolling along behind me, I enter the very different world of middle-class, air-conditioned comfort that is Kolkata airport

Writing Update

Life is often two steps forward and one back, and I’ve found this true in writing as in any other area. Last November several factors combined to make me rethink how I was approaching various aspects of the promotional merry-go-round that self-publishing entails. As a result I took some time away from blogging to evaluate if I was achieving my goals, and if not, what to change and how. Now I’m re-energized - and although still in the dark about various facets of the PR process - my determination to keep writing is as strong as ever. I’ll admit progress on Book Two of the Samsara Trilogy has been slow, and I didn’t manage much writing while in India, but the story is never far from my mind. I really want to get going on it - so re-establishing a daily writing rhythm is urgent.

Revamping the website is on my to do list, and although I’d planned to write a post once a month, this hasn’t materialized. I do miss blogging having learned so much from writing one, and I often find myself thinking of posts I could write - but if time, energy and health are limited, then regretfully, I must prioritize writing the novel.

Today's Haiku
heat builds suffuses
limbs turns brain to thick syrup -
I dream of a/c

(Hotels in India advertise rooms as 'With a/c or non a/c [air conditioning]' Non a/c rooms have a fan.

Useful websites:

Two great sites full of hints and tips on writing, organization, marketing etc., etc.

http://www.AdvancedFictionWriting.com     http://www.Ingermanson.com

http://HollyLisle.com http://HowToThinkSideways.com

I’d love it if you checked out either of my novels, or popped over to Wattpad and read any of my posted stories ... just click on the links to the right.

Join me on Twitter at: teagankearney@modhaiku 

To all story lovers out there, good reading, and to those of you who write, good writing.

NANOWRIMO: THE HIGHS AND THE LOWS

I know there’s a plethora of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month – aka the nano) posts out in the blogosphere at the moment, but as I am participating in the challenge, I thought it appropriate that I dedicate one of my November posts to this writing marathon. 

If you take on a demanding challenge, it’s usually because there is an upside which outweighs the downside. The nano is no different. Deciding to write 50,000 words in thirty days – one thousand, six hundred and sixty seven words a day – is a test, but for many of us, achieving the first draft of a novel is something we think a worthwhile endeavour.

 

Refill frequently

THE LOWS 

To start with, that final word total can haunt you – if you let it – creating a seemingly unattainable goal. But, as with everything else in life from kicking a ball to getting a PhD in astrophysics, patience and determination will get you to your destination, even if it doesn’t produce an instant masterpiece. 

There may be novelists who can write their first draft in eleven days (Catherynne M. Valente, The Labyrinth) but for most us there are any number of factors which prevent our achieving this feat. Though it has to be said, as an example of what’s possible, it is a good one. Consequently, the pace at which you work can be one hurdle to overcome, especially if you are a deliberate, thoughtful writer.

There is also a moment when you realize the time and effort involved takes more commitment than you envisioned when you sat in your armchair or the local coffee shop planning your novel.  You doubt your resolve, wonder if you have what it takes to make it, stare at how much you’ve done that day, and think about how much more you still need to do before you can stop. Again, sheer dogged refusal to give up will get you passed this stumbling block. 

As the days go by, your word count does increase, your story starts to shape up, and you feel encouraged. The hope you started out with becomes conviction. You will make it.

Take a break and cloud watch

THE HIGHS

Each time I've participated in the nano I've had a different experience. Three years ago, my first nano try, I didn’t complete the challenge. Two years ago, I put my head down and ploughed through, surprising myself by writing the required number of words (I’ve yet to return to and complete that novel); last year, though, I had a lot more fun. 

I realize one of the reasons I shot out of the starting post last year was because I’d been thinking about the beginning section of the story for several months. My initial outpouring did slow considerably as the month went on, reflecting the fact that I didn't outline the rest of the story till a few days before the nano started. A valuable part of what I’ve learned from the nano is what works for me as a writer.

This year I’m putting down the rough draft of the second in my paranormal series. I have done a fair amount of incubation of the story, plus more planning than last year. What is different is writing another novel with the same characters, which for me is a first.

The best word I can think of to describe my nano experience is immersion. Immersion in the writing process; immersion in watching the flow of my imaginings manifest on the screen in front of me; immersion in my story. As a result, when I stagger from my seat, stiff-limbed and exhausted, I'm also exhilarated, and all I can say is, brilliant, just brilliant!

                                    

Today’s Haiku 

AUTUMN EVENING

dark Prussian blue sky

sly dusk slinks after day - leaves

deepest umber earth below 

Useful Links:

NaNoWriMo:

http://nanowrimo.org/

Join me on Twitter at: teagankearney@modhaiku

To all story lovers out there, good reading, and to those who write, good writing.