A Good Writing Style, or the Author's Guided Dialog
Written by Ana Bilić
For me, writing style is like shaggy hair that needs to be combed through and sway in the current like river grass. Everything has to flow and be natural, words and sentences should be brushed through, perspective should be clear and logical, text structure should arouse curiosity, so that everything does not create resistance in the water of reading. Otherwise, it’s not just me who resists my text, but also every reader. Because – an inappropriate expression, a pointless sentence or an illogical turn in the text force me to digress from the text and concentrate on the tool of writing – the writing style. Yes, the question of writing style is (theoretically speaking) more exciting than the question of writing topic, because writing style is more complex, more subtle and depends more on intuition and practice than on intellectual debate, as is the case with writing topic. And there is something very important here that the wonderful profession of writing makes considerably more difficult: the writing style of every text needs to be polished, improved and corrected. Even after years of writing.
In literature, the writing style enjoys the greatest freedom. That’s what I like best, of course. But on the other hand, the readership knows very well when a writing style is good and when it is not – the freedom of writing style in literature is a relative concept. So, there’s a lot to articulate here, especially from an author’s point of view.
Good style in literature in general does not mean picking beautiful words and putting them together in a simple way in a sentence so that it is clear to everyone what the author meant. The writing style has the same function as the choice of subject matter: to build a relationship with the reader and involve them in the story. This is an interplay of words, perspective and plot. I’m taking an excerpt from “The Metamorphosis” by Franz Kafka. Although I already mentioned the work in the previous post, this is (another) small homage from me to the great writer who died exactly one hundred years ago this year (1924).
“When Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from restless dreams, he found himself transformed into a monstrous vermin in his bed. […] “What has happened to me?” he thought. It wasn’t a dream. His room, a real human room, just a little too small, lay quietly between the four familiar walls. […] Gregor’s gaze then turned to the window, and the gloomy weather […] made him quite melancholy.”
Let’s analyze these five sentences.
The first sentence conveys information about the event and the character – and because it is so condensed – in simple, dry words. But the part “to a monstrous vermin” catches our attention and builds an emotional relationship with us: “…monstrous vermin?” The dry juridical report paired with the words “monstrous vermin” gives the sentence a grotesque quality.
With the second and third sentences, we are now in the character’s head and we are feverish with two very familiar and simple questions: “What has happened to me?” […] It wasn’t a dream.” – Losing control of yourself, of your own life, is a nightmare for (many) adults. Because childhood, where dreams and reality are often confused and didn’t bother us at all as children, is long behind us. We are forced to confront all kinds of strange realities.
The fourth sentence does not continue the inner view, but shifts to the outer view and describes the character’s room. This description creates sympathy for the character: his room is small but quiet and familiar.
The fifth sentence – the look towards the window – is a cry for help, the search for an answer. But the character’s outer world gives him no answer and no support either. The gloomy weather outside confirms a tragic situation.
An editor would analyze this section in other words: authorial / neutral / personal narrative behavior, first person, consciousness process with regard to the narrative perspective. Which is also important and necessary. But a writer does not write from an analytical perspective, but in a completely different way. This is because the writer has a task that an editor only does post festum – when correcting a finished manuscript: How do I put the sentences in an order that captivates the reader and keeps them engaged? How do I structure the whole thing?
I call writing a successful structure of the prose text author’s guided dialog. This is a conversation between the writer and his imaginary double. I call him Zenon (Cicero’s expression for a friend as a second self). Zenon is a completely ignorant but curious version of the writer. He is a blank slate, yet intelligent and not easy to outwit. Zenon has only one “mission in life” – to know everything about the writer’s work and to scrutinize his work. Zenon has a clear logic, because he has great empathy – he can easily be put into the writer’s described situation, can visualize his text quickly and comments on it honestly and unsparingly like a child. This means you can always rely on Zenon.
Here is what I mean – a fictional dialog of the writer with himself, or with Zenon:
Gregor Samsa – Introduction
- – I have to tell you something. I was able to look at Gregor Samsa’s bed yesterday.
- – Really?
- – And I saw something terrible.
- – What was it?
- – Gregor Samsa has turned into a giant beetle. Imagine that!
- – No! Really?
- – Yes! A monstrous vermin!
- – How is that possible?
- – I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like it.
- – Did Gregor Samsa also know that he had become a vermin?
- – He realized it because he had just woken up and was – to put it mildly – quite confused.
- – But why had he become a vermin?
- – He asked himself that. Was it because of his room? No, his room was the same. Was it the world outside? No, it was just a gloomy day… Ha! As if the day itself had been against him.
So, author’s guided dialog is the author’s dialog with the situation and with the character, using the means of expression that best suit the situation and the character. (With the help of Zenon, of course.) Such a dialog puts the thoughts in the writer’s head in order and helps the text to develop logically and convincingly.
How do you achieve this in practice?
Very simple: practice, practice and only practice.
Because practice makes …
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