Trust your readers (or Sue will tell you stories of Clay Aiken)

There is a woman in my office, let’s call her Sue, who always has a story to tell. It’s usually about how she spent her weekend, or her arduous journey into the office. It can range from her amazing experiences with the Clay-mates (oh yes that’s right, the Clay Aiken fan club*) to how she slipped on the ice that morning (sometimes she falls, sometimes she doesn’t, always she doesn’t want to hear what you have to say about it, just listen).

I work in a fairly quiet office, so when people are talking, everyone can hear them. This is fine. And I don’t mind Sue's tales, really I don’t (they’re entertaining in an I-can’t-believe-she’s-actually-saying-that kind of way) but one telling is enough for me.

It is not, however, enough for her.

She tells every person she works with, as they come in, the Same Exact Story. Over and over. And, because of our lovely work environment, every person she’s already talked to, plus those of us (me) who don’t merit a direct telling, gets to hear it again. Over and over.

By 10 o’clock I’m usually reaching for my Ipod just to block her out and the guy in the cube next to me is banging his head on the desk.

This is not ideal.

The same can be said for writing. Everyone has their limits when reading a book—that thing that an author does that really irks you. That thing that makes you want to throw the book across the room—even if you’re loving the story/characters/voice/etc. That one thing can kill it all.

For my roommate it’s excessive description. It kills her when the author gets too carried away, painting each scene in meticulous detail. If it irks her enough she starts skimming through to the action. If that doesn’t work? Book, wall, thud. Next.**

For me it’s that dang dead horse.*** I can’t handle it when an author, like Sue, works so hard at getting a particular point across that it gets repetitive and annoying. It could be the character’s lack of confidence in her appearance (this one, in particular, drives me crazy) or the weirdness/evilness/aloofness of her parents, or the awesomeness that is her best friend.

I don’t mind if these things are in a story, far from it. But I find myself wishing the author would trust me, the reader, to get it. I don’t need to be told by the narrator each time her father is in a scene that he doesn’t understand her—put it in his actions, absolutely, but don’t state it in her head, again and again. Readers are smarter than that.

So I try (Keyword: TRY) in my own writing to avoid the redundancy. Sure, I am well aware that there are a few key points that I’ve been throwing in again and again in this first draft. And you better believe I’m going to get rid of them eventually.

But it’s a hard thing, trusting your reader. What if they don’t understand my character? What if they didn’t catch that hint? Should I throw in another one? Maybe just one more? It could go on forever. At some point you just have to take a breath, and let it go.

If you’re getting tired of writing about your narrator’s hatred of her curly red hair, your reader will probably be tired of hearing about it.

So maybe more than trusting your reader, you should trust yourself.

And feel free to tell Sue to just shut it already. We get it, Clay rocks.

*These days are the BEST days. *sigh*

**This is an exaggeration, as there is no actual book throwing. Though only because she reads on a Kindle.

***Stop beating it already!

Letter to a Stranger (or how I almost hit someone at Midway)

Dear Man in Front of Me in Line,

It's cold.

I agree, Chicago at midnight in January = cold.

I know this, you know this, the hundred and fifty people standing in front of us in this Taxi line know this. But really, it's not that cold.

Now, my irritation in your line-standing behavior may have something to do with my flight having been delayed two hours or landing at midnight when I know I have to get up for work tomorrow at 6am or the million other people who are, for some reason, trying to get a cab into the city. But I'm not thinking rationally at the moment.

So I'm just going to blame you.

Here is why:

1 . I can pretend to understand your desire to bundle up out here, (not really, because I'm standing behind you in an unzipped jacket and am Not Cold At All, but I'll let that go) but it would have saved a lot of time (and kept me from losing my mind) if you would have put on your scarf, gloves, hat, earphones, and ski mask* before coming out and getting into line.

2. That backpack you're carrying does not look very heavy. (Of course, I've got a computer bag slung across my back and a second carryon on my shoulder that are filled with books--heavy books**--so I might just be feeling jealous.) I'm curious about why you aren't taking advantage of the handy straps on that pack and wearing it on your back.

This is an only barely exaggerated account of your twenty minutes in line. (Also known as the twenty minutes in which you were nearly clubbed in the back of the head with a heavy book.)

You get in line. (I line up a second later thinking, "Damn, if I had just knocked down that slow couple in baggage I would be further up in line.") You set your backpack down. Take out your gloves. Put on one glove. The line moves. You pick up backpack, take a step, drop other glove, set backpack down, pick up glove, pick up backpack, pull luggage, move forward 4 steps.

You set down backpack (I start to feel the press of impending mental breakdown.) You put on other glove. Get out scarf. Line moves. (I bounce on my toes, "Move, move, you idiot," I think.***) You toss scarf over your shoulder, pick up backpack, take 4 steps forward, set down backpack, wrap scarf around your neck.

This pattern continues with your headphones, and your hat (which you also drop), and again with your scarf. (Seriously, we, the others in line, don't care how you're wearing your scarf. Over your jacket collar, under it, looped, knotted, draped, Stop Messing With It!) Can you see what I'm getting at? Irritating.

And when you are paired with the man behind me, who keeps mumbling "What's he doing? That idiot. Is there another line? What is he doing? *sigh* He's doing it all wrong..." about the airport employee who is organizing the person to taxi process, my brain is starting to bubble and boil and someone is gonna get clocked with these books.

But we are reaching the front of the line. You get in a taxi. I drag my stuff to a cab and the over-worked employee even loads my million pound rolling bag into the trunk for me. And all is good in the world again. (Minus the fact that it is now 12:30 and I won't be home till one and then I'll only get four hours of sleep. But this I cannot blame on you. Unfortunately.)

Also, I hope you overheat in your cab. Are you sweating? Bet you are.

Your truly,

Ashley

*To be honest, there was no ski mask involved, but I wouldn't have been surprised if he had whipped one out. (Haha, whip it out.)

**It is a sign that you have a problem when you leave for vacation with 3 books and come back with 11. Oops.

***Again, I am aware that thinking that your slowness has anything to do with how long we'll be in line is irrational. There's nowhere to go, even if you are on your game. But still. My brain would like to blame you.