Adjectives, Adverbs, Cuckoo!

There are an awful lot of writers, sometimes decent, or even good writers, who simply don't know how they do it. Until recently that was how I described my relationship with poetry. 

Occasionally I could write a publishable poem, once I won a poetry competition, but what I did, how I did it, that was almost a total mystery to me.

If I felt a poem was not quite right and I tinkered, I was just as likely to ruin that poem as improve it. I could read a famous, "great" poem and think it nothing, or read a poem, think it wonderful and then be told it was crap, and sometimes shown WHY it was crap.

Because I had a reasonable facility with the English language, and some sensibility, and (to some extent) a writer's soul, it was possible for me to sometimes stumble into a poem. Not a great poem but OK, in a minor-minor poet way of things.

The above is just to make the point that being published means SQUAT in terms of being able to teach. I have heard the most appalling tripe come from the mouths of "famous authors". It's such a shame that certain authors cannot simply admit they are lucky, that they work in half-light, feeling their way.

Recently I have been discussing whether there are "rules" in writing. One such "rule" often cited (ie misrepresented) is the idea of  "no adjectives" or "adjectives are bad" (ditto adverbs).

I say misrepresented because what is usually said is not "no adjectives" but no unnecessary adjectives. Second, the anti-adjective storm-troopers (of which I am one) make the point that when you modify a noun it's often because the noun you chose initially was too vague, or generic.

Quite big = big

Very big = huge

Extremely big = gigantic

Unbelievably big = he was so big he had an oil-tanker in his bath.

Beginning and intermediate writers make many mistakes, and those mistakes are so often repeated that creative writing tutors have posited the opposite to those mistakes phrased as don't, shouldn't and (maybe) never.

95% of the time these so-called "rigid statements" are followed by explanations, exceptions, codicils, but the loopy-loo "rule-bashers" choose to ignore these extensions and argue headlines. Worse, the 95% of beginners who act like total idiots never read past the first line or two and they very soon are able to argue (incorrectly) that they were told something as if it was an absolute law.

Let me see if I can restate the law in a more complete way.

Modifiers, that is adjectives modifying a noun, or adverbs modifying the meaning of a verb, or adverbs modifying an adjective are often unnecessary. These modifiers often (but not always) result from a week choice of core word (a weak noun or a weak verb or a less than specific adjective) and thus result in "more words to describe the same things or events" which almost always but NOT absolutely always, results in inferior writing, baggier, less powerful, less concise, more ordinary work.

There MAY be cases where a good writer, after deliberation, chooses the imprecise noun with added adjective, or the thin verb with additional adverb for clarity.

This may be to illustrate character, to create emphasis, or a certain rhythm, to slow down or speed up a passage, but in general, know this. Beginners always use far too many adverbs and adjectives, often use weak nouns and verbs. When accomplished writers do this, they realize they are doing it and do so because they are thinking at an even higher level. Your "rule", therefore is: Scan your work ruthlessly for EVERY modifier and where there is one ask, "Is the noun the best noun, is the verb the best verb?" Then ask, "IF I replaced the noun-verb with a more encompassing one (and thus lost the modifier) would the piece be improved or damaged?"

Feel Better Now?

One particular writer I'm thinking of (chick-lit) has argued that this particular rule is nonsense and that "If you simply go and read a lot of good books you'll see they are PACKED with adjectives and adverbs."

Well, maybe, but please remember that a great deal of published work is crap (eg: 95% of chick-lit, 99.999% of womag.)

But the next question is this. IS SHE RIGHT?

I decided to go and check. Because I am a lazy bastard I thought I would try Cuckoo by Alex Keegan. Not because I think it's a great book. I wrote it 21 years ago when I was a mere stripling and still didn't understand words like "modifer" and "theme" and "POV" who I thought was a Russian.

Before we continue, some terminology.

I don't know if there are correct, conventional words but I will call adjective that modify an unspecific noun "modifier-adjectives".

But where adjectives expand an understanding and there is no natural condensation of the word-pairing I will call these descriptor-adjectives or meaning-expanding adjectives.

Here's the start of Cuckoo. This may not be the printed version. It's the one on my PC.

Cold Monday morning, six o'clock. November. Brighton sea‑front had to be grey, windswept and damp. It was, but as far as Caz Flood was concerned, it was the only place, the perfect place to be. Yesterday she had been a beat copper, a woodentop, today she was a DC, a detective constable, and nothing, but absolutely nothing, could stop her now.

           

She sat on the stairs in white bikini briefs, her eyes flashing. Today! Yes! And now four quick miles to run before breakfast! She pulled on a pair of cushioned white socks and knee‑length Lycra leggings, then her club shirt, bright enough to hail a passing ship, and finally she slipped into a pair of lightweight Asics trainers before creeping down the stairs and out the door. At the last moment she grabbed a pair of white cotton running gloves, her only concession to the day.

           

Her flat was in a side‑street, an easy downhill to the front. She moved lightly on the balls of her feet, almost a dancer as she jogged towards the sea. The cold had hit her like a fist in the face when she opened the door, but already she was sharp and excited, the wind making her more alive, her face lit up by its edge. She wore no bra ‑ the one thing running cost her was her boobs ‑ and she could feel her skin bristling as her body‑heat began to rise. In a minute she wouldn't feel the cold and in two more she would be warm enough to push for two quick miles. She felt glorious. Finally, but definitely, her world had taken shape. It had taken her six hard years since university, but this was where she had aimed to be, in her own place, earning decent money, fit, independent, in the right job and now, moving up. 

           

She ran east, towards the old Dolphinarium, passing bay‑windowed guest‑houses, increasing her leg speed until she was running at six minutes a mile. On Tuesdays and Thursdays she did the middle part of her run the hard way, on the shingle beach for strength, but today she could glory in speed. The street‑lights were still on and would be for another ten minutes, but their yellow wash was already fading in the red‑orange early morning light breaking over the rooftops.

           

At the Dolphinarium she crossed the road, pushing up the gentle hill for two minutes before turning back. A few cars were out now, cruising like animals on the dewed road, but she was running very hard, straight along the front, and hardly saw them.  A panda car rolled by slowly, tooted once, then kept pace with her. She ignored it until she reached her mile marker, then turned her head as she slowed.  She was grinning, hardly out of breath as she said good morning. The driver was a ten‑year PC just starting to get fat. He spoke, saying that her tights fitted very well. Smiling at him with near‑perfect teeth, she told him to piss off.

           

“Oh dear, above us mortals now are we, Detective?” the driver said.

           

“No, Harry,” she said, “just the ones who can't take no for an answer!”

           

His radio was squawking and he grinned, “OK, Blondie, have a good one anyway.” He pulled away quickly. She could see him answering the call as he U‑turned back towards town.

           

“This is a great job,” she thought, “even if nobody on the force knows what a new man is!”

Cold Monday morning, six o'clock. November. Brighton sea‑front had to be grey, windswept and bdamp. It was, but as far as Caz Flood was concerned, it was the only place, the perfect place to be. Yesterday she had been a beat copper, a woodentop, today she was a DC, a detective constable, and nothing, but absolutely nothing, could stop her now.

"Morning" is unspecific while at the same time specific. We all understand "morning". But here we add "cold". Yes it's an adjective, but there is no specific noun meaning "cold-morning" so cold here is a descriptor-adjective expanding meaning. But it is not there because the author did not use a good noun.

Monday is descriptive. If there were specific words for Monday-morning, Tuesday-morning (eg Monmorn, Tuemorn) then would you not, reader, ask why I didn't say Cold MonMorn?

Grey, windswept, damp. Again these are descriptor adjectives. Here they expand our vision of Brighton sea-front (and the rhythms and emphases matter) but they are not there because the author was weak.

ONLY place? Perhaps there's a single noun meaning "only place". If there is, it MIGHT be better here. Ditto "perfect" in "perfect place". But here, it's clear that only place, perfect place are used as escalating emphasis and at least partly represent the thought patterns and attitudes (and maybe voice) of the main character.

BEAT copper. Here "beat" expands and explains. "Copper" (policeman) might be read as detective, traffic officer, scene-of-crimes, but "beat-copper" is really a double-barreled noun.

ABSOLUTELY nothing? For one thing, nothing is nothing and there is technically, no difference between "nothing" and "absolutely nothing". But the difference is again an escalation of emphasis and a reflection of character, thought-patterns and speech-patterns.

So how many "unnecessary" modifiers were there?

She sat on the stairs in white bikini briefs, her eyes flashing. Today! Yes! And now four quick miles to run before breakfast! She pulled on a pair of cushioned white socks and knee‑length Lycra leggings, then her club shirt, bright enough to hail a passing ship, and finally she slipped into a pair of lightweight Asics trainers before creeping down the stairs and out the door. At the last moment she grabbed a pair of white cotton running gloves, her only concession to the day.

White is a descriptor.

Four quick miles (incorrect English) is (a) a shorthand for "four miles run quickly" and (b) a reflection of runner-speak, ie characterization.

CUSHIONED WHITE socks is an expansion of socks, and again there is no single noun that captures that feeling. The adjectives also stretch out the "time required to dress" and focus on the character.

Knee-length Lycra Leggings.

Again descriptors, expanding our understanding because there are no commonly-known words (nouns) for this apparel.

CLUB shirt. A descriptor but also useful as it expands character. We know she is a club runner.

Lightweight Asics, specifics, added knowledge rather than modification of a weak noun. I could have used "Asics racers" but would lose a large proportion of the readership. Lightweight racers indicate a more serious runner, by the way, thus expanding character.

WHITE COTTON running gloves. Specifics and expansion rather than modifiers required because the noun was pathetic.

Her flat was in a side‑street, an easy downhill to the front. She moved lightly on the balls of her feet, almost a dancer as she jogged towards the sea. The cold had hit her like a fist in the face when she opened the door, but already she was sharp and excited, the wind making her more alive, her face lit up by its edge.

She wore no bra ‑ the one thing running cost her was her boobs ‑ and she could feel her skin bristling as her body‑heat began to rise. In a minute she wouldn't feel the cold and in two more she would be warm enough to push for two quick miles. She felt glorious. Finally, but definitely, her world had taken shape. It had taken her six hard years since university, but this was where she had aimed to be, in her own place, earning decent money, fit, independent, in the right job and now, moving up. 

EASY downhill. This is interesting because the adjective here barely refers to the street. It has more to do with Caz's attitude, or runner-speak. Thus it's a shorthand for something like: The side-street sloped gently and was easy to run up or down without expending too much effort.

LIGHTLY on the balls of her feet. Is there a more succinct way of saying this? Jogged is awful as is skipped, and "tip-toed" is wrong. Again, the core word is simply not available. Note, also, the rhythms.

BUT DEFINITELY seems to modify finally. Yes it does but its purpose is, once again, an escalation of emphasis, the "voice" of the opening.

SIX HARD years. This is not a modifier of "years". Instead it's another condensation of something like "six years where she had to work very hard to achieve..."

           

She ran east, towards the old Dolphinarium, passing bay‑windowed guest‑houses, increasing her leg speed until she was running at six minutes a mile. On Tuesdays and Thursdays she did the middle part of her run the hard way, on the shingle beach for strength, but today she could glory in speed. The street‑lights were still on and would be for another ten minutes, but their yellow wash was already fading in the bred‑orange early morning/b light breaking over the rooftops.

East, a descriptor/expander

Bay-windowed, ditto, and adds texture.

Middle, absolutely necessary word to isolate a specific part of the run

STILL on, indicates that it's light and they could have gone off. Is there another way to say this without a lot more words?

Yellow is a descriptor, yellow wash is fresh.

Red-Orange Early (morning light) is once again an expansion, a descriptor phrase that adds interest and texture.

            At the Dolphinarium she crossed the road, pushing up the gentle hill for two minutes before turning back. A few cars were out now, cruising like animals on the dewed road, but she was running very hard, straight along the front, and hardly saw them.  A panda car rolled by slowly, tooted once, then kept pace with her. She ignored it until she reached her mile marker, then turned her head as she slowed.  She was grinning, hardly out of breath as she said good morning. The driver was a ten‑year PC just starting to get fat. He spoke, saying that her tights fitted very well. Smiling at him with near‑perfect teeth, she told him to piss off.

Gentle is like the word "easy" described earlier, a runner-thing.

Dewed road. Please write and tell me if there's a noun for road-slightly-wet

Hardly here is another shorthand. It does not mean Caz didn't see them, but that she paid little attention.

Rolled by SLOWLY.

This is one place where a verb "rolled" might be replaced by "idled" or "cruised" but here the intention was a car virtually out of gear, just rolling, slowly.

NEAR-PERFECT teeth is again, an expansion, not a weak modifier because the writer chose a lousy noun.

            “Oh dear, above us mortals now are we, Detective?” the driver said.

            “No, Harry,” she said, “just the ones who can't take no for an answer!”

            His radio was squawking and he grinned, “OK, Blondie, have a good one anyway.” He pulled away quickly. She could see him answering the call as he U‑turned back towards town.

            “This is a great job,” she thought, “even if nobody on the force knows what a new man is!”

pulled away QUICKLY… that is the car pulled away quickly, or shot off. There may be a verb for what I felt happened here, a sharp pull-away but not screaming wheels and burning rubber, more CONTROL.

GREAT job here reflects Caz actually thinking. If there was a noun to exactly represent this concept she would still say "Great Job"

New Man is really a composite noun.

So the author suggested that "any book" would be packed with modifiers (Oh, no, you don't mean she meant NECESSARY ADJECTIVES, do you?) and it seems that failed at the very first check (more will follow)