My three-year old granddaughter, Paisley, is…shall we say, a handful. She is the most “independent” thinker I’ve ever met. Adults included. She takes issue when you state the obvious. Like in her little over-acting three-year old mind, she already knows the answer so why do you insist on voicing it?
Example: Paisley: Mommy saw a bug and screamed like a girl.
Me (grandma): Mommy is a girl.
Paisley (complete with eye rolling): I know. That’s why she screamed.
Gotta love this child. She got aggravated because I was telling her something she already knew. Much the same way a reader will feel when they’re beat over the head with information they already know. If your character, John, gets up from the couch to go get a beer in the kitchen, do you have to tell the reader he opens the fridge? No. It’s obvious. Unless he keeps his stash in a Styrofoam cooler, which might be an interesting side note. I like to refer to this type narrative as stage directions: he got up, went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, removed a beer…works great on a stage. Not so much in a book.
I’d rather know why John wanted a beer than read a step-by-step narrative of his physical motions in his trek to get the beer. Hard day at work? If he worked at all…perhaps he lost his job? Maybe he just wanted to drink a cold one while he watched the game? What game? Baseball? Football? Each of these little tidbits adds characterization to John, turning him into a three dimensional character. Rather than just someone who got up off the couch, went into the kitchen, opened the fridge…
Happy Writing!
My beautiful little Paisley with her little brother, Aiden. They were fascinated by the printer.
