This was originally posted on Tumblr on October 6, 2024

In writing, it is essential to provide just enough information to build a picture in a reader’s mind, but not to bore them. Let’s look at one specific area where some writers fall short: providing too much mechanical description.

Here, we’ll look at three different examples of how you can set the same scene, then dissect why the fixed passages are better.

Adam the First silenced his alarm clock, got up out of bed, and walked to the door. He opened the door and walked down the hallway to the bathroom. He undressed and then reached out to turn the handle of the shower. The shower started, and he pulled the curtain aside. Then he realized he needed to pee, so he lifted the toilet seat and urinated. Then he got in the shower. Then he picked up a bar of soap.

Unless you are writing this for extraterrestrials, most people are going to know what it’s like to get out of bed and go to the bathroom to turn on the shower, then realize your bladder is bursting and have to pee first.

This sounds so mechanical, almost robotic; it tells us nothing about how these actions made him feel.

Was he late? Was this done in a rush? Is this his day off so he’s going slow, really luxuriating in the feeling?

So, let’s fix this in two different ways and try them on for size.

Adam the Second rolled out of bed with a resounding smack as his alarm truncated his dream about his ex. Groaning, he swiped the screaming clock off the nightstand, shattering the screen into plasticine trash.

Whatever. A problem for later.

Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled into the bathroom and yanked the shower on, then felt the familiar tingle in his bladder. First things first, he supposed.

The shower was fast and unsatisfying, barely enough time to lather his hair. If he was late for his job at Widget Technologies one more time, he’d be toast. And homeless too.

This version tells us a lot more about Adam: he’s not a morning person, he’s got a bit of an attitude, and he’s chronically late for work, to the point where he might lose his job. Oh, and he’s still got the hots for his ex. We didn’t need to linger on every single part of his morning routine; we swapped out some more interesting actions for the pedestrian “opening the door and turning on the shower” etc.

Now let’s try something different that takes Adam in a whole other direction entirely.

Adam the Third most felt his age in the morning. The crawl to the alarm clock felt agonizing; his rusty joints creaked while he reached for the tiny button at the center that would silence the buzzing bells.

It’d be easier to relocate the alarm clock to his side of the bed, but that seemed too final. Besides, this routine reminded him, morning after morning, that his wife wasn’t here. Just in case he forgot.

Putting his medication in the bathroom had also been a trick recommended by his therapist: forcing him to attend to his hygiene rather than lying in bed all day.

He groaned as he massaged his back and began the slow journey toward his diuretics, then the interminable wait until his bladder remembered its purpose. Hopefully his daughter had brought more shampoo as she promised to, though he had his doubts.

Here we have an entirely different Adam: a man missing his wife, suffering from multiple ailments (including a bit of depression). It appears he might be dealing with early-onset dementia as well. We can also assume that he lives alone but relies on his daughter to bring him things. It seems she might be a bit flakey.

Even the old-school alarm clock tells us that we are not dealing with a youthful character, but someone stuck in an old time, trying to reorient his routine to a new reality.

All these passages deal with the exact same actions: getting out of bed, going to the bathroom, and taking a shower. However, the last two provide us with far more character details while removing extraneous actions that the reader can assume.

So, let’s look at some golden rules of how to turn boring, mechanical passages into something more vibrant and character-driven.

Assume your reader is intelligent

You might be wondering what this has to do with anything, but let me explain.

Writers often feel that they need to spell everything out for their reader because everyone but them is a total moron and can’t determine the sequence of everyday actions.

Your readers are not dumb. It is not just boring to write like Adam the First – it’s also insulting.

Please give your readers credit. Expect them to understand what you are trying to say when you discuss mundane activities.

When you write with the assumption that your readers are intelligent people, you are more willing to gloss over stupid details they don’t need, and you can get to the meat of the action faster.

Remove implied action

If someone was sitting on the bed and then they are walking toward the dresser, we can assume that they got up. We only need to say they got up if there is a particular way they did so which could be assumed as important.

Adam 2 literally rolled out of bed onto the floor and then “stumbled” toward the bathroom. We can imagine a very inelegant rising but don’t actually have to show that.

Adam 3 massaged his back and then “began the slow journey.” We can assume that he got up very carefully, maybe groaning a bit as he did so, but we don’t need to explain that in excruciating detail; it’s implied.

We can also assume the peeing part in both passages. Adam 2 thought “first things first” about his bladder, and then was in the shower. We get the point.

Adam 3 was talking about how he’s going to be straining on the toilet for a while until his diuretics kick in, and then about how he hopes his daughter brought shampoo, so we can tell that he’s going to pee and then shower.

Use active verbs

Yes, sometimes someone just opens a door and there’s nothing special about it. Why are you showing that to us? We don’t get much from it.

Just have them reach the door and then pass through it without explaining. No one will assume they are teleporting.

Unless you’re writing something that does have teleportation, but then I’d imagine you would take more time to explain why they’d teleport through a door, such as it being locked with a key they don’t have.

Specific verbs are far more interesting – and more insightful – than simple, mechanical ones. Consider all the possible ways to open a door here:

• Griselda flung the door open, screaming like a wildcat. “Give me my goddamn money!”
• Jiggling the handle, Imogene heard dead silence on the other side. With shaking fingers, she inched the door open, closing her eyes for fear of what she would see.
• A sprinting Paul slammed into the door, groaned, then fumbled for the handle before tripping inside.
• Vera clutched the polished pewter handle, hands slick with nervous sweat, and twisted it in a hard but controlled motion. She threw her shoulders back to appear more confident and slid past the doorplate, which probably cost more than her whole house.

In the last two examples, there’s something important about the way they held the door handle, so we show that. In the first two examples, we don’t really need to see how they gripped the handle, so we don’t show it.

Add interiority

The passages about Adam 2 and Adam 3 are more interesting because we are getting character development through these passages. Even though each one is a very boring scene of someone going about their morning routine, they feel like different people, because they are.

Adam 1 could be literally anyone on the planet named Adam, but Adam 2 and Adam 3 are clearly a specific person because they feel differently about the exact same routine, and they do it a little differently too.

Adam 2 comes out of the gate snarling; he’s in a bad mood and worrying about his job. Adam 3 is grief-stricken; every single thing reminds him of his dead wife, even the alarm clock.

I write primarily in third person limited POV, which gives a lot of room for character development, but you can do these same things in first person and third person omniscient if you so choose.

To develop interiority, think about how your character feels and their overall life circumstances. Someone about to get married to the love of their life will spring out of bed, excitedly ticking through all the things they need to do before their wedding; we don’t even need to show the actions because they’re telling us what they will do.

Someone about to get married to a suitor they hate is going to slump out of bed, dreading every movement and dragging it out as long as possible. We will hear the resentment as their alarm clock goes off and their grumbled complaints about the shower being cold. This tells us a lot about their mood and their expectations for their day.

When writing, you’re creating an entire world for your readers to enjoy, which is why every sentence counts. Remove the fat to focus on what we all really care about: the characters and their journey.