Just a
quick post this week.
I wanted to
talk about repetition. Repetition can be
a powerful tool. It is amazing when
used correctly.
But
sometimes it indicates a problem. A tool
being used incorrectly. Perhaps always
repeating the same words. Or always
using the same phrasing. Or very similar
sentence structure. And this is when repetition fails. Because now it weakens the story. Or the post, in this case.
Do you see
what I mean?
All these
sentences have six words. No more or
less in each. The words are all
different lengths. The structure of each sentence varies. But you still feel the rhythm. Six words
repeating over and over. The pacing
feels a bit unnatural. And then I start
watching it. I stop reading the story
normally. I end up auditing each line. I
count up the repeating words
This is
when repetition means boring.
And my readers hate boring.
And my readers hate boring.
Okay,
that’s enough of that. Did the last
sentence seem to slam the point home a bit in your mind? Especially at the end? Look again—the last sentence only has five
words. It’s different. It stands out.
I’ve also
seen people who repeat the same opening for every sentence. I’ve also seen people who repeat the same
structure for every sentence. I’ve also
seen people who repeat the same opening and structure for each
sentence. I’ve also seen people who
repeat the same trick again and again and expect it to have the
same impact.
But it’s
not just the blatant stuff. Repetition can creep into my writing a bunch of
ways. I may be using the same word a
lot. We all have a phrase or a term we
latch onto and have to go rooting out of our manuscripts. Or maybe someone’s name. It might even be the way I present
information.
I spend a
lot of time trying to weed out of much of that as I can. Even something as
simple as dialogue descriptors—I hate looking at a page and seeing a chorus of
Wakko said, Dot said, Yakko said, Wakko said, Phoebe said. Not that there’s anything wrong with said—it’s a borderline-invisible word.
But this structure of name-said-dialogue, name-said-dialogue,
name-said-dialogue, name-said dialogue... it’s just boring as hell.
D’you
notice that one? The fourth repetition is just too much, isn’t
it. You get the point, I don’t need to
keep pounding you with it.
And it’s so
easy to break up that sort of thing. Name-said-dialogue. Dialogue-name-said. Dialogue-said-name. Really, if everything’s working right, I
probably don’t even need descriptors past a certain point.
Y’see,
Timmy, that’s the thing about repetition.
It can be a powerful form of writing.
It’s writing at level eight or nine.
But we’ve talked about this before—what happens when everything’s set up at nine or ten?
It’s dull. It’s monotone. It’s true for my story, but it’s also true for my writing itself. If I try to make every page, every paragraph, every single six-word sentence a piece of dialed-up-to–ten Pulitzer-winning literature, my writing is going to get boring really fast.
It’s dull. It’s monotone. It’s true for my story, but it’s also true for my writing itself. If I try to make every page, every paragraph, every single six-word sentence a piece of dialed-up-to–ten Pulitzer-winning literature, my writing is going to get boring really fast.
D’you catch
that? Repetition for emphasis. At the end. Where I want to score the big
points.
I don’t
need to be scared of repetition. I just shouldn’t
be wasting it when I don’t really need it.
Next
time...
Well, I’ll
be honest. This time next week I’ll be
moderating a couple panels at New York Comic Con and doing a couple of signings. So next week will probably be a few photo
tips. But hopefully you all know that
sort of thing’s the exception, not the rule.
And if
you’re attending NYCC and you have some time, please stop by and say “hello.”
Until
then... go write.
And don’t repeat
yourself.
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