Write Right

Okay, so you're writing a fiction novel (literary, genre, thriller, what-have-you) and you reach a dramatic moment. We know that your audience is adult in nature, ie, audience has been around awhile and has experienced or is aware of all the different facets of being "grown up".
So you get to this dramatic moment - let's suppose it deals with a man and a woman, they are alone, and they feel some chemistry.
Do you:
A) Softly suggest that a romantic moment is about to occur?
B) Mention that they start to caress and kiss and then let it be known that more follows?
C) Get down to the nitty-gritty and describe everything that happens between them?

Or, suppose the scene deals with a horrid crime. Similar questions apply.

Okay, now: WHY did you choose as you did?

For myself, I don't see any need to describe every nasty or gory detail in the scene. Again, we are all adults and we pretty much know what happens. Why is it necessary to explain and define and describe everything? I would just as soon let the reader imagine his/her own scene.

For example:
Joe and Mary had just finished a nice dinner in her apartment and realized that there was more between them than just friendship. They looked at each other and each realized that it wasn't yet time for him to go home. In the next room, her bed beckoned silently...

Or:
He held the weapon firmly and pointed it against his opponents stomach as he breathed harshly and swore loudly. Suddenly the other man fell to the ground, bleeding on the cold, tile floor and grimacing in pain. Within a few seconds, he was dead and no longer a menace...

This is much more conducive to feeding the endorphins and tweaking the imagination than describing everything for the reader.

What say you??

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Why, oh, why, must I be a writer?

Stating an opinion is one thing. But, can you think for yourself? That is what separates an educated person from an illiterate!

ash somers

description is death

_ bob dylan

i like a bit of mystery

Truth-Teller

The first one is telling.

The second one is showing.

Which one do you think I prefer?

Truth-Teller

Joe and Mary can do all that through dialogue. You must really hate dialogue, am I right?

Again, show us, don't tell us dinner was nice. What does nice mean? Describe the setting, the mood, atmosphere, dialogue, facial expressions, and how the characters react to one another.

Or you can end up writing like an Colm Toibin, and add piles of rejection after another.

CodeRed

Every little detail (as far as romance is concerned) is best left to the talentless with a thesaurus who write fiction for Playboy and pretend "that it really did happen to me, I swear!"
Say only what needs to be said, adult readers are intelligent enough (most of the time) to fill in the blanks, and most would prefer it that way. I believe that it was Ralph Waldo Emerson said that "there is creative reading as well as creative writing", and I believe that it's better to give your readers a chance to exercise that theory. Same goes for the violence/gore issue.

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All my best thoughts were stolen by the ancients. Ralph Waldo Emerson

Gate

Here is Detail......Warning GRAPHIC VIOLENCE!!!!

“Talk to your fucking God through this you dirty, unclean whore” he hissed. She made him out vaguely moving
toward her. Suddenly pain burst into her lips and teeth. Blood and chunks of teeth filled her mouth. She blew out
hard, spewing blood and tooth matter straight up. Zac had taken the head of a sledgehammer and rammed it through
her lips and teeth. He raised it again. This time, with more force, he came straight down. The eight pound piece of
steel was planted firmly in her mouth.
The idea of what had just happened to her, compounded Keras’ terror and pain. Trying not to drown in her own
blood was excruciating. The jagged edges of her teeth, broken to the gum line, kept rubbing against the cold, bare
steel . Choking, coughing, terrifying agony. Now, barely holding on, Kera was blasted by a new pain. Something
hard, insanely long and wide was being thrust upward, into her anus. The pain was amplified, almost more than she
could bear. Mercifully, the steel was removed from her bloody mouth and replaced by the end of a hose. The plastic
felt enormous to Keras torn lips and stubbed teeth. The hose/tubing was clear, one and a half inch diameter flowing to
a Y. Zac wrapped the tube with a rag, smelling of dirt, grease and gasoline. He taped the rag and tube around Keras
lips and neck securing it in her mouth. She could no longer spit up her blood. Thankfully, it flowed more slowly. All
she could do was swallow it now. Keras world existed completely of pain and fear…yet, even worse awaited her.
Pure evil had yet to completely rear its ugly head.
Kera knew she was about to die. She tried hard to calm herself, but panic was all she knew. She was blowing blood
out her nostrils when she exhaled and sucking it down her throat on the intake of air.
Kera Kelley was being tortured.
Zac rolled the table closer to the wall. He had been preparing for almost an hour, while Kera had been knocked out.
He moved her so she could see what he had in mind. The pause in the torture was deliberate. He was giving his
victim time to adjust, time to come to her senses, time to feel every vile moment for what it was.
Kera saw the reddish rubber bag hanging on the wall above her. The pain her mouth had become a throbbing ache.
No longer so acute as to distract her from watching for the next horror.
“I need to clean you out, little girl” Zac hissed. Reaching above her he began to pouring water from a gallon jug
into the bag. At first, she misunderstood. She thought he planned to drown her, but the water never passed her lips.
The tube in her mouth was so large, it would have been almost impossible to swallow fast enough to keep up. Instead
the water, a tepid seventy five degrees, began to fill her bowels. Immediately she understood. The coolness of the
water spread throughout her abdomen, filling her.
Another jug was hoisted up by the mad man who held her captive. He poured and squeezed the large, red bag
forcing the water to penetrate and expand her bowels. Looking under the table he saw foul, brown liquid leaking,
dripping around the hose. Enough. He raised the bucket to her cheeks, grasped the hose and with one fluid motion
pulled steadily. The tube was bloody and smeared with feces as it came out of her anus.
“Aww, did that hurt?’ He taunted her. Keras muffled scream had provoked his words.
In a rush of fluid and gas, her bowels emptied into the dirty metal bucket. The foul odor reached her nose and she knew he had kept the her shit.
“Now taste of what you are made, whore.”
He began a litany, while pouring the fresh waste of her into a funnel connected to her “feeding tube”.
“Eat of your corruption. Choke on the bile of all you have wrought. Your decadence feeds you” he chanted the
words while Kera struggled not to vomit on her own waste. She lost. Shit and puke sprayed from her nostrils. She
was about to pass out when the tube was abruptly jerked form her mouth. The contents of the tube dumped on her face
and chest, as an outrageous plume of blood, bile, shit, spit and puke blew from Keras Kelleys' mouth . Deep, racking
coughs came after. Kera was reduced to less than an animal. Her last instinct, raging hate was all she had. Anger, ravaging murderous abandon. No more tears.
“Youewww….fuckinggg…sick fuckinggg bastard” she yelled, slurring the words, drawing them out. Slurring because she had no front teeth.
“Fucking kill me now! You fuck faggot. Sick fuck I swear if you don’t kill me, I will kill you. I promise”.
“SILENCE” Zac bellowed in her ear. Literally making her ears ring with inhuman resonance.

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" Imagine if all you ever did was kill for God. What kind of being would you be? An Angel sword dripping, your wings always dipped in blood.....Imagine."

ash somers

eeewww

Gate

In order to completely convey the horror of that scene I descibed every action in detail so as to provoke outrage and emotion from the reader....its awful but then evil is awful..

__________________
" Imagine if all you ever did was kill for God. What kind of being would you be? An Angel sword dripping, your wings always dipped in blood.....Imagine."

Gate

Now for the beauty,....

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" Imagine if all you ever did was kill for God. What kind of being would you be? An Angel sword dripping, your wings always dipped in blood.....Imagine."

Truth-Teller

That wasn't awful.

That was hilarious.

Beautiful, keep it coming. Loved the emotion. Hated the dialogue. But, man, was it funny.

Gate

Now the beauty.... creation of an angel...

Millions upon millions of heavens angels praised God. He was creating one of them. One whose story was not yet written, still he was the very word of God. The books of this age were not yet on paper. The Alpha and Omega, The one true God had spoken and so it was.
Oleshio, (oh lee she oh) was everything, Michael, Gabriel and Raphael were. His goodness, a song of heaven, his power, the wrath of God, his humility, like Jesus Christ. His sword forged by God Himself. His skin was olive brown. He stood naked before the throne of God, the sword at his feet. The sword rose at its tip, standing on its handle. Slowly it rose and stopped just higher than the new angel. Melodic tones came from the weapon and suddenly light cast itself in all directions. Every possible color inundated the universe of the heavenly plane, only God, Himself was brighter. Angels oiled down the skin of Oleshio while the swords rich tones resonated throughout the heavens. Harmonies of every kind made this event one of heavens most beautiful. As the song and illuminations from the sword continued, angels brought raiment for the new archangel. They drifted chain mail over his head and shoulders, the golden links covering his torso. Leather wrist bands, four inches wide, wrapped half his forearms, tied underneath in a perfect weave. His skirt was a mother of pearl iridescence with wisps of rainbow shimmering through it. Nothing adorned his feet. Lastly was his vest, tasseled shoulder boards of greenest jade on a double breasted burgundy wrap with double rows of golden buttons, seven to a row. Finally, God took the sword, its song instantly chiming impossible high tones, and brought the blade of light down on Oleshios left shoulder. The song grew as a blast of white sparks blazed from the contact. As the Almighty lifted the sword, the left wing unfolded. He brought the sword down to the right shoulder, again the same song, the same white sparked. The right wing unfurled. Now each wing held high, each touching. The wings were a reflection of all time and brilliance itself.
Oleshio folded back his wings, knelt before the throne with arms outstretched and brought his hands down to the surface of Gods foundation as he said, “ I am your humble servant, you are my almighty God. Only say the word and it shall be done.
Instantly the history of heaven, man and all creation was bestowed on Oleshio. His orders had been given as well. In a flash of lightening and peal of thunder, he was off, gliding on a light toward Regina.
In mans time, on the earthly plane, Regina had just sat down in the car of the three evil men. Twelve of Satans captains would fall to Oleshios sword over the next six hours. Raphael had once been held at bay for twenty one days. In that six hours, Reginas’ soul would be battered mercilessly. When Oleshio found her, when he ‘remembered’ all that had befallen Gods chosen, nothing could hold him back. He gave her strength and courage. He willed her to get up. Inconsolable, Oleshio gave her wrath. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew the guns were instruments of death. Still, he brought her to them, full of fury, she killed and killed again.
That was then, Oleshio had not been with her since that day. The songs of his brethren urged him into her presence. The light of the Holy Ghost bade him to love her.
Regina got up from the bathroom floor, turned on the light and stared into the mirror. Slowly, beneath the smell and dirt, beneath the haunted emerald eyes, she found her heart. She didn’t have to go on hurting herself, others had done that all her life. She didn’t have to bow down to money. Somehow she knew where to go. She knew who to see. Tonight, Lil P would die. Tonight Precious would cease to exist. Regina began her healing. Tonight she would go to Sister Isabella. Tonight her life would change. Failure was not an option.

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" Imagine if all you ever did was kill for God. What kind of being would you be? An Angel sword dripping, your wings always dipped in blood.....Imagine."

Gate

I'm sorry you thought it was funny I guess if you had the whole story you would see it in its true light......and its true dark... or maybe you just wanted to belittle my writing either way I have Agents waiting for the rest and over 270,000 word count ..so my future is looking good...or maybe I'm reading you wrong your truth-telling is noted however

__________________
" Imagine if all you ever did was kill for God. What kind of being would you be? An Angel sword dripping, your wings always dipped in blood.....Imagine."

Gate

And I may not be any good be I sure do love to write....Thats my truth

__________________
" Imagine if all you ever did was kill for God. What kind of being would you be? An Angel sword dripping, your wings always dipped in blood.....Imagine."

seigfried007

Umm, what precisely was the point of that, gate? To show us just what tasteless fiction looks like? To prove that creative reading is a good thing?

I certainly hope that you meant that to be nauseating.


I've written some really nasty things and I'll continue to do so when I feel I must, but I choose to leave the cheap thrills out and do as much by implication as possible because implication makes the reader work harder, and therefore makes the piece more memorable and meaningful when done well.

Finding the corpse of a women who's suffered that kind of agony--say someone pulled an American Psycho on her, or maybe she's had bits of her limbs amputated and coarsely stitched shut until she was nothing but a limbless, rolling hag with matted hair, splinters in her sides and genitals... and she's discovered after rolling from a balcony or onto railways tracks as a method of suicide. The reader can make up his or her own mind on just what tortures were inflicted.

In the above example, our detective hero breaks into the zealot's lair (too late, naturally) and discovers a young woman who asphyxiated on her own feces... among splatters of such, tubes, instruments of torture, funnels, etc. Maybe his litanies are scrawled all over this dingy room. Mention rat bites. But you don't have to go into the detail because we'll fill in the blanks just like our detective would--after the fact.

The monster behind the door is always more frightening than the one in front of it.

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Gate

seig,

its just the way I wrote the scene its raw and unedited.....and from my second novel ....My word craft isnt very good my style I know is rough ...but I love to write
so I keep writing ...maybe one day if i fine tune things and get it right the story will come out like a carving from the rock

__________________
" Imagine if all you ever did was kill for God. What kind of being would you be? An Angel sword dripping, your wings always dipped in blood.....Imagine."