One of my writing mentors, Sol Stein, once told me to avoid melodrama in my fiction, melodrama being characterized by exaggerated scenes or characters that are intended to appeal to the emotions. The damsel in distress tied to the railroad tracks. The villain twirling his mustache.
I’ve been editing A Prayer for Rain, and even after great input from several readers, my manuscript is covered with red marks of my own doing. Much of what I’m finding are sentences and phrases that make me cringe. Phrases that I thought were good when I wrote them, but now jump out at me as melodramatic. Even a simple word choice can make a sentence melodramatic.
In one scene, Trevor has an exchange with Jess, a young woman who works at a convenience store. Since his accident five years before, he has had very little physical contact with anyone, and when they shake hands for the first time, he has this reaction:
He took her hand in his and though it was only for a moment, he relished the soft touch of her skin on his.
The word in question is relish. By definition, it’s accurate enough. It simply means to take pleasure in something. But in reading it afresh, it strikes me as a little bit of an over-reaction. I picture Trevor going “ahhhhh” and quivering like a bowl of jelly. Come on, man. Get a grip. It seems melodramatic to me now.
Here’s the current version:
He took her hand in his and though it was only for a moment, he appreciated the soft touch of her skin on his.
I’m not sure appreciated will be the final word choice, but it definitely takes away the melodrama. Trevor notices her in a unique way, but he’s not about to melt into a pile of butter.
I said to the guys at the Shelton College Review the other day that sometimes I’ll open my manuscript to a random page and read a couple of sentences and get embarrassed by the poor quality of the writing. I think what I’m seeing when I do that is the amateurish, melodramatic passages. Recognizing the problem is the first step to recovery, right?
That’s why there’s red ink all over my pages.
Words matter.
May 15, 2016 at 5:26 pm
I had thought it was good when I read it, but is better the new way.
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May 15, 2016 at 7:08 pm
Thanks, Adele.
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May 15, 2016 at 5:51 pm
It’s the subtle variations that refine the prose. Like tuning a piano, you are bringing it carefully into alignment. Delicate calibration. Just so.
I agree. The adjustment here is tighter. It is strong.
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May 15, 2016 at 7:10 pm
Thanks, Sharon. And well, said, as usual. I love the music-themed analogy.
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May 15, 2016 at 6:05 pm
maybe he just “felt” the softness of her skin.
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May 15, 2016 at 7:11 pm
I like this option, too. His appreciation would be implied.
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May 17, 2016 at 1:38 pm
Yeah. Just saying that he noticed it probably sends a strong enough message.
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May 15, 2016 at 7:14 pm
Melodrama may be bad, but the man has had very little physical contact with people in 5 years. He must be starved for “a little of that human touch.” The image of rain on parched earth came to mind.
Perhaps his skin drank in the softness of her touch. Or something. Something more vivid than “appreciated”, if not so lip-smacking as “relished”. But then, if this encounter is of no overall consequence to the story, Larry’s suggestion of “felt” fits the bill.
These posts make me think. And then I respond. Sorry if I blather on.
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May 15, 2016 at 7:17 pm
Excellent thoughts. This is a very significant encounter for Trevor. I like the imagery you suggest and it ties in perfectly with the theme of healing rain in the novel.
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May 15, 2016 at 7:32 pm
Oh yeah, the book title….I was off on a Peter Paul and Mary song.
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May 15, 2016 at 7:52 pm
I’m an old man. Refresh my memory about your Peter Paul and Mary reference.
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May 15, 2016 at 8:00 pm
Sometime lovin’ –
A Camp Carlisle standard:
When you’ve seen a hungry grassland,
Reach out to kiss the rain.
When you’ve seen how strong her kiss is,
Come and kiss me once again.
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May 15, 2016 at 8:26 pm
That must have been a groovy camp.
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