{"id":2179,"date":"2008-11-14T21:39:26","date_gmt":"2008-11-15T02:39:26","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/brandywinebooks.net\/?p=2179"},"modified":"2008-11-14T21:39:26","modified_gmt":"2008-11-15T02:39:26","slug":"exposition-lesson-part-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/brandywinebooks.net\/?p=2179","title":{"rendered":"Exposition lesson, Part 2"},"content":{"rendered":"

Last night I set up a scene<\/strong> from an imaginary novel, in which a police detective says too much to his superior officer (a guy he doesn\u2019t get along with). The imaginary author (who would appear to be me. I\u2019m not sure how that works) is trying to give us some background on the tragic roots of our hero\u2019s (his name is Slade) obsession with an unsolved child murder. But the method he chooses\u2014having Slade unburden his heart to a guy he doesn\u2019t even like (and certainly doesn\u2019t trust), rings false for any reader with a minimal amount of human experience.<\/p>\n

So how could the author convey this information to the reader more naturally? <\/p>\n

Here\u2019s a couple possibilities. Both options involve cutting the narrative off after the first line of the 13th paragraph: \u201cSlade took a deep breath.\u201d<\/i> (If you haven\u2019t read last night\u2019s post, it\u2019s probably a good idea to go back and do that, because I\u2019m not gonna recapitulate it here. Do I have to do everything <\/i>for you?)
\n

\n
Possibility One:<\/strong>
\n<\/p>\n

Slade took a deep breath. He willed himself to calm down, to stuff his emotions. \u201cThis guy isn\u2019t worth the trouble I\u2019d get into arguing with him,\u201d<\/i> he told himself.<\/p>\n

Aloud he said, \u201cMessage received. Can I get back to work?\u201d<\/p>\n

Cherhofsky picked up some paperwork and waved his hand as if he\u2019d already forgotten the matter. \u201cGet out of here,\u201d he said. Slade got.<\/p>\n

Back at his desk, he sat for a minute with his eyes closed. He tried to think of calm, pleasant things, of blue skies and golden fields of grain, ripe heads waving in the breeze. But somehow, without his meaning for it to happen, the breeze in his mental picture became a storm wind, and the golden fields became an ocean of snowdrifts, and there it was again\u2014the scene he could never forget. Himself, only twelve years old, tramping through the snowdrifts, crying, \u201cDanny! Danny!\u201d<\/i> And then he spotted a shape under the snow that was somehow different from all the other shapes, and he knelt beside it and brushed the snow away\u2014<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

That\u2019s one way to do it. You can go on with the exposition from there.<\/p>\n

Or\u2014and this is often even better\u2014you can use a trigger <\/i>to set off the memory. This is a good technique because it concretizes the character\u2019s thoughts. Also it\u2019s something every reader has experienced. The trigger is an external stimulus\u2014something heard or seen or smelled\u2014that takes the character back to the relevant memory.<\/p>\n

However, a trigger \u201cright out of the blue\u201d at the wrong point would be too much of a coincidence. Not that such a thing couldn\u2019t happen in real life, but always bear in mind that coincidences in fiction are far less believable than in real life. Use them sparingly. As a general rule of thumb, you can use a coincidence to kick off a plot, but using coincidences to advance the plot doesn\u2019t generally work. Holding the trigger until Slade gets back to his desk, and having it come out of left field, is too much. But a trigger pulled inside the scene with Cherhofsky would work.<\/p>\n

So let\u2019s back up again and put Slade back in Cherhofsky\u2019s office.<\/p>\n

Possibility Two:<\/strong>
\n<\/p>\n

Slade took a deep breath. He willed himself to calm down, to stuff his emotions. \u201cThis guy isn\u2019t worth the trouble I\u2019d get into arguing with him,\u201d <\/i>he told himself.<\/p>\n

Aloud he said, \u201cMessage received. Can I get back to work?\u201d<\/p>\n

Cherhofsky picked up some paperwork and waved his hand as if he\u2019d already forgotten the matter. \u201cGet out of here,\u201d he said. Slade got.<\/p>\n

As he Slade passed through the door, Cherhofsky glanced up and said, \u201cAnd try to look professional for a change. Jeez. Your shirt\u2019s hanging out there.\u201d<\/p>\n

A moment later Slade found himself sitting at his own desk. He couldn\u2019t remember walking down the hall or entering the bullpen.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour shirt\u2019s hanging out.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

Had Cherhofsky noticed a change in his expression when he said that? Had he gone pale? Stopped in his tracks for a second? Given himself away completely?<\/p>\n

He couldn\u2019t remember a thing.<\/p>\n

What he could remember was the freckled face of his brother Danny looking up at him, blushing, so many years ago. How many times had he said to the kid, \u201cHey, your shirt\u2019s hanging out!\u201d Danny could never seem to keep his shirt-tail in. It probably had to do with how skinny he\u2019d been, and how he had to twist his hips around to walk.<\/p>\n

And then his thoughts took him back\u2014against his will\u2014to one terrible winter day\u2026.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Both these endings are quickly written, and not great prose. But my point (I hope you see it) is that both of them are great improvements over the scene\u2019s original ending.<\/p>\n

They\u2019re better because a) they\u2019re more natural; more like how real people act, and b) because they involve showing the reader a picture of the memory, rather than having Slade describe it.<\/p>\n

Show, don\u2019t tell.<\/i> Words to write by.
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Last night I set up a scene from an imaginary novel, in which a police detective says too much to his superior officer (a guy he doesn\u2019t get along with). The imaginary author (who would appear to be me. I\u2019m not sure how that works) is trying to give us some background on the tragic … Continue reading Exposition lesson, Part 2<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[7,17],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2179","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-writing"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/brandywinebooks.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2179","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/brandywinebooks.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/brandywinebooks.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/brandywinebooks.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/brandywinebooks.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2179"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/brandywinebooks.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2179\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/brandywinebooks.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2179"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/brandywinebooks.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2179"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/brandywinebooks.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2179"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}