This week's sample
comes from Jane Daly, 510 whimsical words about, well, words. And punctuation.
And impending intrigue. It's offbeat and more than a little quirky, which we'll
have to preserve as we boil it down. Jane says she's never been quite
comfortable with this passage—let's see what we can do with it.
The Original:
The Chief cracked open
the door to the Minced Words Diner and peered inside. The last thing he needed
was to be spotted by someone he knew. But the place was almost deserted at this
time of night. Just a couple of lines nursing drinks at the bar, and sitting in
the far corner, a lone exclamation mark, looking like she’d been used one too
many times.
He pushed himself the
rest of the way in, frowning as the small tinkle of a bell announced his
arrival. But the other patrons never glanced in his direction. He hung up his
coat and slipped into the nearest booth, facing the door.
A young waitress
appeared from the back, bringing a steaming pot of black coffee. “Nasty night
to be out,” she greeted him, pouring him a cup of the thick brew. “You might
want to put something a little stronger in your coffee on a night like–”
She stopped in
mid-sentence, having suddenly spied the neat row of red pens lined up in the
Chief’s pocket protector. Her eyes narrowed. “Look, mister, this is a clean
joint. You won’t find anything that’s not in the dictionary.”
The Chief found that
hard to believe, but he let it pass. He wasn’t here to bust a Mom ‘n’ Pop shop.
Instead, he removed a business card from his wallet and handed it to the
waitress. “Chief Ed Itor, ma’am,” he introduced himself. “I’m looking for some
information.”
The waitress glanced
at the card for a moment before tossing it back on the table. “What makes you
think I know something?” she retorted. “Look, unless you want
some apple pie to go with that coffee, I’ve got nothing more to say.”
The Chief reached over
and gently took the coffeepot from her, setting it on the table. “Listen, it’s
all right,” he assured her. “Emily Dash sent me.”
“Emily—Em Dash sent
you here?” the waitress gasped. “Is she—is she all right?”
“You’d better sit
down,” the Chief suggested. The waitress nodded and slid onto the opposite
bench. He poured her a cup of coffee and she took it gratefully.
“What’s your name?”
the Chief asked her. “Your real name.”
“Anna,” she replied,
her voice faraway.
The Chief nodded.
“You’re Bob Palindrome’s daughter. I met you when you were just a tot, you and
your mom, Hannah. Before the whole Palindrome family went into hiding.”
“Yes, I remember now.
My Dad used to talk about the wild times you two had. ‘Evil did I dwell, lewd
did I live,’ he used to say,” Anna said. She held up her hand to reveal a slim
gold wedding band. “But the name’s not Palindrome anymore. It’s Graham, now.
Anna Graham.”
“Congratulations,” the
Chief smiled. “But Anna, there’s been trouble down at the Famous Last Words
Park. Em Dash—she didn’t want to blow your cover—but she thought you might have
heard something.”
Anna leaned across the
table. “You didn’t hear it from me,” she said. “But they say Mr. Jargon has
infiltrated ACRONYM.”
The Condensation:
The Chief cracked open the
door to the Minced Words Diner and peered inside. The last thing he needed was
to be spotted by someone he knew. But the place was almost deserted at this
time of night. Just a couple of lines nursing drinks at the bar, and sitting in
the far corner, a lone exclamation mark, looking like she’d been used one too
many times.
If the door was
previously open, we wouldn't say the Chief "cracked" the door, so
"cracked open" can lose the "open."
I'm always leery of
"the [noun] of the (or to the) [noun]" phraseology, and I'm equally
suspicious of "person did this and that" sentences. We can boil
things down by combining the two, and while we're at it we can call it
"half-deserted", thus boiling out the third sentence entirely (if we
add in that it's late somewhere else).
"The last thing
he needed was to be" is clunky, and comes from not trusting the audience.
Let's move it to the end of the paragraph and boil it down to just the facts
(ma'am), where the reader can infer that he pushes himself the rest of the way
in because the place contains no one he knows.
"Just" is
clutter, and we can boil down the exclamation point line by smoothing over
those commas—and in the meantime let's emphasize the overused quality by
changing "sat" to "slumped". I like the turn of phrase,
"looking like she'd been used one too many times," too much to change
it to "looking over-used." While we could boil it down, I think it
would lose too much of the noir feel if we did so.
The Chief peered
through the cracked door into the half-deserted Minced Words Diner. A couple of
lines nursed drinks at the bar, and a lone exclamation mark slumped in the far
corner, looking like she’d been used one too many times. No one who'd recognize
him.
He pushed himself the rest
of the way in, frowning as the small tinkle of a bell announced his arrival.
But the other patrons never glanced in his direction. He hung up his coat and
slipped into the nearest booth, facing the door.
As a general rule,
reflexive pronouns can boil out without the slightest loss of content.
Tinkles are small, we
have the "of a" to contend with again, and everyone knows what a bell
on a door is designed to do—which is further emphasized by the next sentence
anyway. Let's combine these sentences to boil things a little further.
"Never" is
an odd word choice here, because it's in response to a single action, a single
point in time. "In his direction" = "his way".
An editor who isn't me
might call out the not-simultaneous coat-hang and sit, but I think changing
"and" to "then" isn't necessary here—there's nothing wrong
with implied sequentiality.
He pushed through,
frowning as the bell tinkled, but nobody glanced his way. He hung up his coat
and slipped into the nearest booth, facing the door.
A young waitress appeared
from the back, bringing a steaming pot of black coffee. “Nasty night to be out,”
she greeted him, pouring him a cup of the thick brew. “You might want to put
something a little stronger in your coffee on a night like–”
If he's facing the
door, he can't know that the waitress appeared from the back, and she can't
bring coffee without appearing anyway.
It's a little weird
that she poured him coffee without asking him what he wanted to drink, but
let's roll with it anyway: We don't need to split the action. Coffee is a brew,
and it's no thicker than water.
"She greeted
him" is one example of several speech tags in this sample. Most speech
tags can be boiled out without loss of content, but redundant speech tags that
tell the reader what the dialogue already tells them need to be purged wherever
found. Through this exercise I'll boil them out without further comment on
them.
A young waitress brought
a steaming pot of black coffee and poured him a cup. “Nasty night to be out. You
might want to put something a little stronger in your coffee on a night like–”
She stopped in mid-sentence,
having suddenly spied the neat row of red pens lined up in the Chief’s pocket
protector. Her eyes narrowed. “Look, mister, this is a clean joint. You won’t
find anything that’s not in the dictionary.”
She stopped in
mid-sentence, so we don't need to say that she stopped in mid-sentence.
"Suddenly spied' is a POV glitch—we started in his, now we're in hers. We
need to describe this action as the Chief sees it.
A neat row is already
lined up, and "the Chief's" = "his."
Part of me wants to
change the last line to "Y'all won't find anything that ain't in the
dictionary", because that will make some people twitch—but that's taking
my job too far!
Her eyes narrowed at
the neat row of red pens in his pocket protector. “Look, mister, this is a
clean joint. You won’t find anything that’s not in the dictionary.”
The Chief found that hard
to believe, but he let it pass. He wasn’t here to bust a Mom ‘n’ Pop shop.
Instead, he removed a business card from his wallet and handed it to the
waitress. “Chief Ed Itor, ma’am,” he introduced himself. “I’m looking for some
information.”
"The Chief"
= "He", and "he let it pass" is redundant with the next
sentence.
Because he didn't do
anything, and we're not even sure exactly what he might have done instead, we
don't need "Instead".
We can combine
removing the card and handing it to "the waitress" = "her".
He found that hard to
believe, but wasn’t here to bust a Mom ‘n’ Pop shop. He handed her a business
card from his wallet. “Chief Ed Itor, ma’am. I’m looking for some information.”
The waitress glanced at
the card for a moment before tossing it back on the table. “What makes you
think I know something?” she retorted. “Look, unless you want
some apple pie to go with that coffee, I’ve got nothing more to say.”
We know she's a
waitress, we know it's a card, and a glance by nature is momentary.
She glanced at it
before tossing it back on the table. “What makes you think I know
something? Look, unless you want some apple pie to go with that coffee, I’ve
got nothing more to say.”
The Chief reached over and
gently took the coffeepot from her, setting it on the table. “Listen, it’s all
right,” he assured her. “Emily Dash sent me.”
To reach over and take
gently is to "lift."
He lifted the
coffeepot from her, setting it on the table. “Listen, it’s all right. Emily
Dash sent me.”
“Emily—Em Dash sent you here?” the waitress
gasped. “Is she—is she all right?”
I'm conflicted, here.
We don't need to repeat his "Emily" for the joke to carry, but it
does give us an excuse to use an emdash. Having thought about it a while, I
think that anyone who's still reading at this point will be amused without the
use of the actual punctuation—just as no exclamation points were used on the
poor overused one in the introductory paragraph. Let's compromise and use only
one.
We certainly don't
need the gasp as a speech tag, as you can't gasp and speak at the same time
anyway. There's also no reason to split up the dialogue in that manner. That
said, if we want to keep the gasp, it belongs at the beginning.
She gasped. “Em Dash?
Is she—is she all right?”
“You’d better sit down,” the Chief suggested.
The waitress nodded and slid onto the opposite bench. He poured her a cup of
coffee and she took it gratefully.
“What’s your name?” the
Chief asked her. “Your real name.”
We don't need her to
nod, as she complies with the suggestion, and we can't say that she's grateful
because we're not in her POV.
One wonders where he
got the second cup from. There'd be no reason for her to have brought two to a
table with one person. As he hasn't had any yet, let's assume he gives it to
her.
“You’d better sit
down.” He pushed the cup over as she slid onto the opposite bench. She grabbed
it with both hands. “What’s your name? Your real name.”
“Anna,” she replied, her
voice faraway.
I don't know why her
voice would be far away when she's across the table. We could say that
"she replied, voice soft," but that's four words more than necessary.
“Anna.”
The Chief nodded. “You’re
Bob Palindrome’s daughter. I met you when you were just a tot, you and your
mom, Hannah. Before the whole Palindrome family went into hiding.”
This is next to impossible
to boil down the "right" way, because of the literary shenanigans
hidden therein... Tot/mom/Hannah all in the same sentence is obviously
intentional (and pretty darned witty), but it's also clunky. Anna knows who her
mom is, so the dialogue comes across as fake. We can boil it a little, and make
it more authentic, by frontloading Hannah.
And let's merge the
last two sentences while we're at it. There's no reason to say
"Palindrome" twice, here.
He nodded. “You’re Bob
and Hannah Palindrome’s daughter. I met you when you were just a tot, before you
went into hiding.”
“Yes, I remember now. My
Dad used to talk about the wild times you two had. ‘Evil did I dwell, lewd did
I live,’ he used to say,” Anna said. She held up her hand to reveal a slim gold
wedding band. “But the name’s not Palindrome anymore. It’s Graham, now. Anna
Graham.”
The "Yes" is
extraneous. "My Dad" in this context would be "he".
An aside: the
palindrome is making me a bit twitchy, here, because the reverse of "Evil
did I dwell" is "llewd I did live", not "lewd did I
live". The single/double "l" I can forgive, but "did
I" should become "I did", or vice-versa. However, this is such a
specific piece of dialogue—hell, maybe Bob was bad at his namesake linguistic
device—that I'm going to leave it as-is.
The last bit of
dialogue we can boil down by assuming that Ed isn't an idiot, and can pick up
that her last name has changed without getting clubbed over the head with it
quite so hard.
“I remember now. He
used to talk about the wild times you two had. ‘Evil did I dwell, lewd did I
live,’ he used to say.” She held up her hand to reveal a slim gold wedding
band. “But it’s Anna Graham, now.”
“Congratulations,” the
Chief smiled. “But Anna, there’s been trouble down at the Famous Last Words
Park. Em Dash—she didn’t want to blow your cover—but she thought you might have
heard something.”
Let's move the action
to the front of the dialogue.
In dialogue, people
rarely say one another's name unless they're trying to get their attention, so
let's boil out "Anna". "Been" and "down" are
clutter.
If it's the intent to
use an emdash every time Em Dash is mentioned, then my boiling of this last
sentence of dialogue is not going to fly with the author, but it will read
better.
He smiled.
“Congratulations. But there’s trouble at the Famous Last Words Park. Em didn’t
want to blow your cover, but thought you might have heard something.”
Anna leaned across the
table. “You didn’t hear it from me,” she said. “But they say Mr. Jargon has
infiltrated ACRONYM.”
Let's change
"across the table" to "close", and boil out the speech tag.
Anna leaned close. “You
didn’t hear it from me, but they say Mr. Jargon has infiltrated ACRONYM.”
The Result:
Upon reading the
resultant boiled-down prose, a structural problem really pops out now that
we're using "He" and "She" instead of "The Chief"
and "The Waitress": most of the paragraphs have the same form of
"He/she does something, then says something. Let's break it up a little.
The Chief peered
through the cracked door into the half-deserted Minced Words Diner. A couple of
lines nursed drinks at the bar, and a lone exclamation mark slumped in the far
corner, looking like she’d been used one too many times. No one who'd recognize
him.
He pushed through,
frowning as the bell tinkled, but nobody glanced his way. He hung up his coat
and slipped into the nearest booth, facing the door.
A young waitress brought
a steaming pot of black coffee and poured him a cup. “Nasty night to be out. You
might want to put something a little stronger in your coffee on a night like–” Her eyes narrowed at
the neat row of red pens in his pocket protector. “Look, mister, this is a
clean joint. You won’t find anything that’s not in the dictionary.”
He found that hard to
believe, but wasn’t here to bust a Mom ‘n’ Pop shop. He handed her a business
card from his wallet. “Chief Ed Itor, ma’am. I’m looking for some information.”
“What makes you
think I know something? Look, unless you want some apple pie
to go with that coffee, I’ve got nothing more to say.” She tossed the card onto
the table.
He lifted the
coffeepot from her, setting it down. “Listen, it’s all right. Emily Dash sent
me.”
She gasped. “Em Dash?
Is she—is she all right?”
“You’d better sit
down.” He pushed the cup over as she slid onto the opposite bench. She grabbed
it with both hands. “What’s your name? Your real name.”
“Anna.”
He nodded. “You’re Bob
and Hannah Palindrome’s daughter. I met you when you were just a tot, before you
went into hiding.”
“I remember now. He
used to talk about the wild times you two had. ‘Evil did I dwell, lewd did I
live,’ he used to say.” She held up her hand to reveal a slim gold wedding
band. “But it’s Anna Graham, now.”
His smile didn't last.
“Congratulations. But there’s trouble at the Famous Last Words Park. Em didn’t
want to blow your cover, but thought you might have heard something.”
Anna leaned close.
“You didn’t hear it from me, but they say Mr. Jargon has infiltrated ACRONYM.”
