Eradicating Thats, or, Pet Words & Why We Love Them

Scene from the Aqua Follies, part of Seattle's 1950s Seafair celebration.

For the last two days, I've been working on lowering the number of times the word "that" appears in my current WIP, Aqua Follies. I started at just under 360. I'm at 136 now, and my goal is to get it down to around 50. 

Yep, my WIP is on a that diet.

And when I'm done with that (heh), I'm going to move on to the next word on my Pet Word List.

Was.

Now, was is a fairly useful word. I mean, states of being are ubiquitous, unless the story is happening in a vacuum. (Momentary existential tangent!) On my was pass, I'll look for examples of passive voice construction - and the reasons for avoiding passive voice make a whole 'nother blog post. (Though you can jump HERE for some examples of the difference between passive and active voice.)

Pet words are a problem for a number of reasons, but the most important one is they make your work boring. With all the words in the English language, you're going to make me read just 400 times in your novel? Seriously? Or then there was the NYT bestselling author who started three sentences in the same paragraph with the word meanwhile. Monotonous, careless, and actually kind of funny, in a not-terribly-amusing way.

I find if I repeat a word too often, I'm writing lazy. When I do a pet word search to clean up the frequent flyers, I almost always improve clarity, and often manage to communicate my meaning in fewer words. Consider the next couple sentences...

Jack Dodson was slender, with a receding hairline and a gaze that said just get to the point.

OR

Jack Dodson was slender, with a receding hairline and a just-get-to-the-point gaze.

IMHO (and you're welcome to disagree) the edited version is cleaner and  tighter. It gets rid of the micro-conflict created by "gaze...said", which could be kind of fun, but could also be tiresome if it bumps the reader either because gazes don't speak or because it's heading toward clicheville.

Clicheville. The place you never, ever want to go.

Here's another example of how getting rid of a pet word like that can improve your language. This edit has the added bonus of getting rid of a was, too.

The other verdict Russell reached was that regardless of how things worked out with Skip, he wanted to stay in Seattle, where he could smell the salty ocean air from just about everywhere, and where he could walk into a bar with other men who thought like he did.

OR

His moment of insight brought him to a second conclusion. Regardless of how things worked out with Skip, Russell wanted to stay in Seattle...

They both deliver the same information, but I think the second version is a little more polished, which fits better with the upper middle-class, college educated POV character.

So pet words make your work boring, and fixing them will make your writing stronger. Sounds simple, right? Except for the fact that I've spent the last two days eradicating thats, and I've got about 20 other words on my list. 

This might take a while.

The subject of pet words has come up on a couple different Facebook groups I'm on, and minimizing pet words is the kind of thing that'll impress a prospective agent or editor. My observation has been that my pet words change, depending on the project I'm working on, which is why I keep a running list. Writing teacher Rayne Hall will say that a word shouldn't appear more than one time in 1000 words, so I use that as my general rule of thumb.


What about you? Do you have pet words that turn up again and again in your manuscript? If you're not sure, jump HERE to a pretty good blog post that includes a list of common pet words. Check it out, then see how many times you use some of these in your work. (And you'll get bonus points if you leave your top three pet words in the comments!)

Peace,
Liv

Two on Tuesday

A few years ago, I attended the Write on the Sound writers' conference. The day before the conference officially started, I participated in a pre-conference fiction workshop. It was great fun, and I got to know some pretty amazing people. Some of us kept in touch, and in the last week, two writers from that workshop published short stories. I had the pleasure of getting a sneak peek at both these stories and thoroughly enjoyed them. Amanda and Diane don't know I'm doing this, but I decided to put together a quick post, showing off on their behalf.

It's a rare day that Amanda K. Byrne and I don't connect. Between email, facebook, and twitter, we give each other support, honest feedback, or a ration of shit, depending on the situation. She published Rehab last week. It's a 7000 word erotic short story, and a fantastic example of her ability to write really good naughty stuff. It's a free download... check out the links below...

An accident forces Lila into physical therapy - and onto Dean's massage table. Under his talented hands, her injuries start to heal, and sparks a desire that neither one can ignore.

Available for free from Amazon, Kobo, and Barnes n' Noble. 

I remember so clearly reading Diane Geurts' Mrs. Robinson after the WOTS workshop. The story has stayed with me because Diane's language is so clean and strong and insightful. I remember feeling panicked as I read it, as if I was on the brink of a disaster that never quite happened, and I better shut up now or I'll start giving things away. It'd be better if you checked it out for yourself...

Camilla Robinson is a formerly high-powered executive, emphasis on formerly. Now, she spends the hot summer days next to her pool, with her young daughter and Andy, one of the teenagers who lives in the neighborhood. She knows, even as she sips martinis and serves them to Andy, that her life is spiraling somewhere just out of her reach. She just can't bring herself to care, especially around the wealthy, Martha Stewart-like women who are mothers to her daughter's friends. She flirts with Andy. She puts Baileys in her morning coffee. She ruins play dates. This "long" short story is a humorous and poignant look at one woman's journey to find her way back to who she really is.

Available from Amazon

Even though I called this post Two for Tuesday, I'm going to throw in a third option for you. This is a really cool bundle from Rayne Hall. She's put together all ten of her Ten Tales anthologies (normally $0.99 each) for $2.99. I've got short stories in five of her anthologies, and they all provide a diverse look at different subgenres of paranormal fiction. Jump HERE to see her listing on Amazon. There's Ten Tales of Ghosts, and Ten Tales of Steampunk, and Ten Tales of Seers, and Ten tales of Vampires, and...

The Year of the Short Story Continues: Two New Covers

  

In January, 2011, my New Year's resolution was to submit something somewhere every month. I hoped that if I could get a few short story credits, I could parlay that into an agent and hopefully a book deal. Fast-forward 18 months, and here I am celebrating not one, but TWO releases in the month of June. 

First out is my short story "The Loft", which appears in the anthology Scared - Ten Tales of Horror. It's available NOW from Amazon and Smashwords. I learned a lot while working on "The Loft". My most important lesson was that, since I don't like reading horror - I think I made it through The Shining only because it was for college credit - I didn't know what I was doing when I tried to write in the genre. I didn't know the tropes, the touchstones, and while "The Loft" is a fun story, it might fall more into the suspense category than true horror. That's alright. I love working with the editor, Rayne Hall, and have learned a ton from each of the projects I've done with her.

Later this month, Still Moments Publishing will release Something Borrowed, Something Blue, an anthology of wedding-themed stories. My piece is called "The Ring Toss", and it's a sequel to "The Santa Drag", which appeared last December in Christmas Treats: Santa's Nice List. LOVE the story, LOVE the characters. It's a shamelessly chick-lit romance, and I hope you keep an eye out for it's release date. In the meantime, here's a sneak peek at the cover art:

Ain't it purty? I think every good Rancourtesan should have a pair of fancy blue pumps. Don't you?
;)
Peace,
Liv

Monday Morning Post: The Cutlass Edition

Happy release day to me! Er, well, to US, since it was a group effort. I am proud to announce the release of Cutlass - Ten Tales of Pirates, a new anthology that was compiled and edited by the amazing Rayne Hall. It's available on Smashwords and Amazon (so far). Check out the company I'm keeping on this one!

1. KHABALLO by Margo Lerwill
Careened on a cursed island, the old captain and her men are caught between warring navies. 

2. VICTORIA AND THE IRONCLAD by Douglas Kolacki
An escaped slave and a pirate captain race to capture the Confederacy's ultimate weapon.

3. BLIND MAN'S BLUFF by Jonathan Broughton
The trickster's reward is deceit.

4. SKRITCH by John Blackport
Your enemy may be your best ally.

5. DIAMONDS AND BONES by Kris Austen Radcliffe
In space, you may need to deal for the diamonds your bones need.

6. UN HOMME DE COULEUR LIBRE by Liv Rancourt
Fate sets Robert's life on a new course.
(Yeah, I made mine bigger. So? It's my blog.)

7. SCYLLA AND THE PEPPER PIRATES by Rayne Hall
A spunky young woman sets out to rescue her long-lost lover.

8. BROADSIDED by JK Kiegan
Love can take you off course.

9. THE PENSIONER PIRATES OF MARINE PARADE by Jonathan Broughton
Rebel pensioners revolt.

10. THE BOOK OF ADVENTURES by Douglas Kolacki
In the Great Depression, two brothers find two kinds of escape.

For those of you who have been following along with this blog, my short story, Un Homme De Couleur Libre was written from the perspective of a 16 year old boy (check out my post here), and the piece is set in 1810 New Orleans. I'd love for you to read it and let me know if I managed to pull it off - both the perspective and the historical setting. And in the interest of garnering that feedback, I'd like to give away three copies of Cutlass. Leave a comment on this post, and next week I'll announce the winners. 

There's a snippet below to whet your appetite. Thanks so much for reading along!

Peace,

Liv

Excerpt...

February 4, 1810

New Orleans, Louisiana

             They say I am not yet a man. Maybe not in years on earth, but by my own measure, yes. I am old enough to love and I promise I am old enough to bed a woman. I am old enough to lie, and I'm old enough to do what I believe is right, even when it leads me to kill. The last one has aged me faster than any other thing.   
            At first, I was simply running, while trying not to appear rushed. The streets of the French Quarter were busy with people celebrating the start of Carnivale. I moved quickly through the laughing crowds, their gaudy silks and linens splattered by mud from the street and their perfumes barely covering the stench of the open sewers. They were French and Spanish and Creole, along with a few rude Americans, and everywhere there were dark-eyed women on the arms of fair-skinned men. 

            At Canal Street, I passed a pair of lamplighters working together to raise the ladders needed to light the oil-fueled lanterns that hung from iron poles along the street. I had run out in only my breeches, shirt and waistcoat, and while I blended with the rowdy crowds on Decatur street, here my missing coat would raise questions. I hoped to avoid notice because although I was one of the gens de couleur libres, or the free men of color, without the backing of my family, my safety was not guaranteed.

            The French Quarter's gardens and wrought iron balconies were replaced by the raw and unfinished American Quarter. I turned onto Magasine Street, a block away from a stretch of warehouses that covered the ground down to the banks of the Mississippi River. If I could make it to the river, I could perhaps climb aboard a barge heading north towards Destrehan, my father's plantation. I knew I couldn’t stay there, but it was the only idea I had. Before I could take action, the lamplighters turned the corner and began working their way towards me.

            I dropped into the shadow of a spare two-story clapboard building and pressed myself up against the wall, then slowly edged around until I was in the strip of weeds that separated this building from its neighbor. The clatter of horses’ hooves told me another party of men had joined the lamplighters. Angry voices knifed back at me from the street. I recognized my brother's friend Philippe. Someone must had watched me leave the lodging and followed, or else they never would have come this close. I couldn't clearly distinguish their words, but from the ire in Philippe’s voice I guessed that the lamplighters weren't providing him the information he sought. I had a moment of hope that they would pass by.

            A soft growl from behind me destroyed my tenuous sense of relief. I glanced back and saw the glistening eyes of an angry dog. The growl erupted into a staccato burst of barking.

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