Yeah, you know the story: this porridge was too hot, this was too cold, the third was 'just right'. Most of the time, I remind you to put enough detail in there, slow down your transitions, set the scene a little bit more. Because a lot of the time, what our writing recipes need is a pinch more this, or a dash of that. Otherwise, we're too bland and generic.

But what about the other extreme? Burying people in unnecessary circumstances? That can kill the reader's appetite faster than a fly in the soup.

A rich man had been murdered in a certain part of the city. He was in his library at the time of the crime. His family was in an adjoining room, yet none of them heard any noise, or knew what had been done until they found him lifeless on the floor. Investigation proved that he had been shot, but not with an ordinary weapon. The missile in his heart was a combination of bullet and dart, evidently propelled from a powerful air rifle or spring gun. But no clew was left by the perpetrator of the crime, and Wooldridge carried the strange missile in his pocket for several months before a single prospect of apprehending the murderer appeared. Then it was the black cat that did it. What strange coincidence or freak of fate it was that impelled the cat to literally lead the detective to a little pile of dirt in an alley that night Wooldridge never has attempted to explain. But lead him it did, and when he dug into the disturbed ground he found something entirely new in the gun line, the weapon that had discharged the fatal bullet in his pocket. Eventually he traced the gun to its inventor, and from there to the man who had purchased it, a young fellow named Johnson, and a supposed friend of the murdered man's family. The consequence was that this man proved to be the murderer. When arrested he at first denied his guilt, broke down under the sweatbox ordeal and confessed, and – killed himself in his cell next morning.

Clifton R. Wooldridge, Twenty Years a Detective in the Wickedest
City in the World, 1908

A quick note: This is the earliest example I've found of the word 'literally' being misused in this way. And yes, the author is referring to himself in the third person.

This is a spectacularly awful paragraph. The whole book is like that, which makes it enormously entertaining in a way the author never intended. But you don't want to write like that. Ever. Not even when sleep-deprived or drunk. Trust me on this.

What's wrong with that paragraph? It has both too much and too little information in it. On the one hand, it goes on in a circumstantial manner, as if it was going to tell us something: where, when, how, why. But it does nothing of the sort. It wastes our time with 'a certain part of the city', 'at the time of the crime', and all that rot. It gets us so mixed up, we don't know whether the black cat shot the victim, or whether it was the detective. There's a great deal of heat, and very little light in that paragraph. Don't do that. Especially because you're not dead yet, and somebody might want to poke you in the eye for torturing them.

Oh: the 'wickedest city in the world' is Chicago. He got that right, anyway.

If you don't know, or if it's not necessary to the story, leave it out. Also leave out extraneous detail that is only interesting to you because you're a nut about it. There's something fascinating about the particular make of motorbike the protagonist is driving? Either work it in as a plot point, use it to illuminate character, or leave it the smeg out. The same goes for film trivia, obscure song lyrics, and et cetera.

And Another Thing…

Another mark of 'just-right' writing is to know when you're finished. When a performer onstage is finished, he bows and leaves. He doesn't hang around chatting with the audience, telling them how he happened to think of this particular bit, or adding material from his outtakes file. He gets off the stage. 'Always leave them wanting more' is a good piece of advice. Find the right natural stopping-place for your essay, Guide Entry, or story, and quit while you're ahead.

Also, and this is very important: Don't run things into the ground. You thought that jokey bit went over well? Don't repeat it endlessly in this story, or the next. Use it sparingly. It will last longer. Simlarly, don't belabour the action. If the grisly death of the annoying teenager was extremely effective, don't assume that doing it twice more will add up to three times the fun. Even if you like those kinds of movies, believe me, not everyone does. And you can do better – so do.

As many stories are spoiled by their epilogues as leave audiences dissatisfied with vague 'open endings'. Don't do either: find the 'just-right' version.

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

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