class 3 mentor text homework language skills

Class 3 Mentor Text Homework – Language Skills

Read this handout for a taste of the language skills that writers often use!

Use Unusual Words

Don’t settle for the first word that pops into your head. Investigate and sniff around for other words that may fit

better.

Use Unusual Words … continued

Since this is a creative writing class, after all, we’ll do our fair share of writing about good guys and bad guys.

Here’s a taste of what you can do with words!

Use Unusual Words … continued

Use a thesaurus to help you replace tired, bland words with thrilling, spicy ones!

If you are using Microsoft Word, you can highlight any word, then press Shift + F7 (at the same time)

and it will bring up a thesaurus.

Excerpts from Writing with Wow Words.

Use “Be” Verbs Sparingly If you use “be” verbs too much, your writing isn’t as strong as it could be. “Be” verbs are not wrong or bad (I used two in the previous sentence!), but you should pay attention to them and try not to overuse them. You might write a sentence like this:

My dogs were fast. While this is a fine sentence, it certainly doesn’t conjure up a concrete image. You can place an unforgettable image in our heads by replacing that boring “were” with much better verbs:

My dogs tore around the flower garden, clumps of dirt and helpless petals flying. My dogs flew into one another, snarling and snapping. My dogs raced each other to meet the UPS truck.

What are the “be” verbs? Every writer should memorize this short list:

am is are was were be being been

How do you avoid unnecessary “be” verbs? 1. Identify them in your writing. 2. Find a new way to structure the sentence! Be verb: Vegetables were being sold by farmers at the produce stand. No be verb: Farmers sold vegetables at the produce stand. Be verb: A glass of orange juice was refreshing to Monroe. No be verb: Monroe drank a refreshing glass of orange juice. Be verb: The first step is to get soap, a bucket, and some old rags. No be verb: First, gather soap, a bucket, and some old rags. Be verb: Being lazy and sloppy, Mark never makes his bed. No be verb: Lazy and sloppy, Mark never makes his bed. Be verb: Rowan is much taller than Seth. No be verb: Rowan towers over Seth. Be verb: Janna is a disciplined, hardworking pitcher for the Rockets. No be verb: Hardworking and disciplined, Janna pitches for the Rockets.

Be verb: That alligator is mean. No be verb: The alligator, angry at being disturbed, lurched forward and swallowed the boy’s cat. Be verb: My bike was hit by a car which was being driven by an elderly lady who was in an old sedan. No be verb: An elderly lady driving an old sedan struck my bike. Note: Leave the “be” verb alone if you can’t find a way to change it that makes sense! Be verb: Alfred was so embarrassed by his ridiculous new haircut. No be verb: Alfred embarrasses his new ridiculous new haircut (nope). His ridiculous new haircut embarrasses Alfred (well, okay, but it sounds strange). “Be” verbs are a legitimate part of our language. They are not bad. But they are often overused. Simply watch out for them, and try to find ways to spice up your sentences if you can!

Figurative Language

Writers use figurative language when they say one thing, but really want readers to think of something else.

Simile

A figure of speech in which a comparison is made between two things essentially unlike. The comparison is

made by the following words: like, as, than, similar, resembles, or seems.

Examples:

“I would have given anything for the power to soothe her frail soul, tormenting itself in its invincible

ignorance like a small bird beating about the cruel wires of a cage.”

“Elderly American ladies leaning on their canes listed toward me like towers of Pisa.”

“The room filled itself with warmth and light; it was more a home to me than home itself.”

Metaphor

A figure of speech that makes a comparison between two unlike things, without using the simile words (like, as,

than, similar, resembles, or seems). Metaphors are often more extensive than similes.

Examples:

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.”

(Shakespeare has compared “all the world” to a “stage”.)

“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no

longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.”

(Matthew 5:13. Jesus has compared His followers to salt).

“My imagination is a three-hundred-ring circus. Currently I was in ring two hundred and ninety-nine, with

elephants dancing and clowns cart wheeling and tigers leaping through rings of fire. The time had come

to step back, leave the main tent, go buy some popcorn and a Coke, bliss out, cool down.”

(Here, it can be seen that the “circus” has been compared to the author’s “imagination”.)

“It never takes longer than a few minutes, when they get together, for everyone to revert to the state of

nature, like a party marooned by a shipwreck. That’s what a family is. Also the storm at sea, the ship, and

the unknown shore. And the hats and the whiskey stills that you make out of bamboo and coconuts. And

the fire that you light to keep away the beasts.”

(Here, the writer has compared “family” with a “crew that has been shipwrecked”, among other things.)

Personification

A figure of speech that attributes human characteristics to an animal, object, or idea.

Examples:

“Time waits for none.”

“The woods are getting ready to sleep—they are not yet asleep but they are disrobing and are having all

sorts of little bed-time conferences and whisperings and good-nights.”

“The room filled itself with warmth and light; it was more a home to me than home itself.”

“Becoming stagnant should be one of the Christian’s greatest fears. Stagnancy would seem easy to

identify, but it masquerades behind a mask of pleasantries.”

Juxtaposition

The opposite of similes and metaphors, which highlight similarities. Juxtaposition focuses on differences.

Juxtaposition: Place opposite ideas (or unlikely associations) next to each other to heighten the contrast,

surprise, and wit.

Examples:

Duty, Honor, and Character … mold you for your future roles as the custodians of the nation's defense.

They make you strong enough to know when you are weak, and brave enough to face yourself when you

are afraid. They teach you to be proud and unbending in honest failure, but humble and gentle in success;

not to substitute words for actions, not to seek the path of comfort, but to face the stress and spur of

difficulty and challenge; to learn to stand up in the storm but to have compassion on those who fall; to

master yourself before you seek to master others; to have a heart that is clean, a goal that is high; to learn

to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; to reach into the future yet never neglect the past; to be serious

yet never to take yourself too seriously; to be modest so that you will remember the simplicity of true

greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength. They give you a temper of the

will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions, a freshness of the deep springs of life, a

temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, of an appetite for adventure over love of ease.

They create in your heart the sense of wonder, the unfailing hope of what next, and the joy and

inspiration of life. They teach you in this way to be an officer and a gentleman.

(Speech on “Duty, Honor, Country” by General Douglas MacArthur)

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,

it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of

Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had

nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way…”

(Excerpt from “A Tale of Two Cities” by Charles Dickens)

Sentence Variation

Adding sentence variety to prose can give it life and rhythm. Too many sentences with the same structure and length can grow monotonous for readers.

1. Vary the length and type of sentences

No variation: Many really good blues guitarists have all had the last name King. They have been named Freddie King

and Albert King and B.B. King. The name King must make a bluesman a really good bluesman. The bluesmen named King have all been very talented and good guitar players. The claim that a name can make a guitarist good may not be that far-fetched.

Variation in length / type: What makes a good bluesman? Maybe, just maybe, it's all in a stately name. B.B. King. Freddie King.

Albert King. It's no coincidence that they're the royalty of their genre. When their fingers dance like court jesters, their guitars gleam like scepters, and their voices bellow like regal trumpets, they seem almost like nobility. Hearing their music is like walking into the throne room. They really are kings.

2. Alternate sentence openings

If too many sentences start in the same way, readers can get bored! Changing opening words and phrases can be refreshing. Notice that different beginnings can alter not only the structure but also the emphasis of the sentence.

Example: The biggest coincidence that day happened when David and I ended up sitting next to each other at the

Super Bowl.

Other ways to structure the sentence: Coincidentally, David and I ended up sitting right next to each other at the Super Bowl. In an amazing coincidence, David and I ended up sitting next to each other at the Super Bowl. When I sat down at the Super Bowl, I realized that, by sheer coincidence, I was directly next to David. By sheer coincidence, I ended up sitting directly next to David at the Super Bowl. With over 50,000 fans at the Super Bowl, it took an incredible coincidence for me to end up sitting right

next to David. What are the odds that I would have ended up sitting right next to David at the Super Bowl? David and I, without any prior planning, ended up sitting right next to each other at the Super Bowl. Without any prior planning, David and I ended up sitting right next to each other at the Super Bowl. At the crowded Super Bowl, packed with 50,000 screaming fans, David and I ended up sitting right next

to each other by sheer coincidence. Though I hadn't made any advance arrangements with David, we ended up sitting right next to each

other at the Super Bowl. Many amazing coincidences occurred that day, but nothing topped sitting right next to David at the

Super Bowl. Unbelievable, I know, but David and I ended up sitting right next to each other at the Super Bowl. Guided by some bizarre coincidence, David and I ended up sitting right next to each other at the Super

Bowl.

Excerpts from OWL at Purdue and The Write Life.

Get the Name of the Rooster

Don’t submit a story without "the name of the rooster." When Kelley Benham wrote a story of the ferocious

rooster that attacked a toddler, she not only gave us the name of the rooster, Rockadoodle Two, but also the

names of his parents, Rockadoodle and one-legged Henny Penny. (I cannot explain why it matters that the

offending rooster’s mother only had one leg, but it does. It makes the story so much richer.)

Just before the execution of a serial killer, reporter Christopher Scanlan flew to Utah to visit the family of one of

the murderer’s victims. Years earlier a young woman left her house and never returned. Scanlan found the one

detail (the “name of the rooster”) that told the story of the family’s grief. He noticed a piece of tape over the

light switch next to the front door – so no one could turn it off. The mother always left the light on until her

daughter returned home, and though years had passed, that light was kept burning like an eternal flame.

Details like this can be captured by any writer who is full of imagination, and willing to pounce on the smallest

flicker of a story.

Excerpt from 55 Essential Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clark.

Paint Pictures to Reveal Character

I once read a story in USA Today about a young teenage surfer in Hawaii who lost her arm in a shark attack. The

piece, by Jill Lieber, began this way: Bethany Hamilton has always been a compassionate child. But since the 14-

year-old Hawaiian surfing sensation lost her left arm in a shark attack on Halloween, her compassion has

deepened.

Blanket words such as "compassionate" convey a general meaning, but become almost useless in describing

people. The reader screams silently for examples, for evidence. Don't just tell me, Ms. Writer, that Super Surfer

Girl is compassionate. Show me. And she does:

“From her hospital bed, Bethany Hamilton ‘tearfully insisted’ that the 1,500-pound tiger shark that attacked her

‘not be harmed.’ Later the girl meets with a blind psychologist and offers him the charitable donations she is

receiving ‘to fund an operation to restore his sight.’

And in December, Hamilton touched more hearts when, on a media tour of New York City, she suddenly

removed her ski jacket and gave it to a homeless girl sitting on a subway grate in Times Square. Wearing only a

tank top, Hamilton then canceled a shopping spree, saying she already had too many things.”

Now I see. That girl really is compassionate.

The best writers create moving pictures of people that reveal their characteristics and aspirations, their hopes

and fears. Writing for The New York Times, Isabel Wilkerson describes a mother in desperate fear for the safety

of her children, but avoids blanket adjectives such as "desperate" and "fearful." Instead she shows us a woman

preparing her children for school:

“She sprays them. She shakes an aerosol can and sprays their coats, their heads, their tiny outstretched hands.

She sprays them back and front to protect them as they go off to school, facing bullets and gang recruiters and

a crazy dangerous world. It is a special religious oil that smells like drugstore perfume, and the children shut

their eyes tight as she sprays them long and furious so they will come back to her, alive and safe, at day's end.”


Zoom In, Zoom Out

Movie directors use cameras to tell a story. They manipulate our attention by what they show us. Writers can

do the same thing. Use various “views” to focus your readers’ attention.

1. Aerial view: The writer looks down upon the world, as if he were standing atop a skyscraper. Example:

"Hundreds and hundreds of black South African voters stood for hours in long, sandy serpentine lines waiting to

cast their ballots for the first time."

2. Middle distance: The camera moves closer to the action, close enough to see the key players and their

interactions. This is the common distance for most stories. "Scores of hostages survived, staggering from the

school even as intense gunfire sputtered and grenades exploded around them. Many were barely dressed, their

faces strained with fear and exhaustion, their bodies bloodied by shrapnel and gunshots."

4. Close-up: The camera gets in the face of the subject, close enough to detect an important detail that would

be invisible from a distance: the pinky ring on the mobster's finger, the date circled on the wall calendar, the

steaming coffee in the cop's hand. "The cancer-care nurse scooped the dead angel fish out of the office

aquarium. Alone in the staff bathroom, she wrapped the fish, around and around, in toilet paper before flushing

it. Patients at this clinic had enough on their minds. They didn't need another reminder of mortality."


Give Your Story a Question

Who done it? Guilty or not guilty? Who will win the race? Which man will she marry? Will the hero escape, or

die trying? Good questions drive good stories.

In the pediatric ward of a town hospital, Sri Lanka's most celebrated tsunami orphan dozes, drools and, when

he is in a foul mood, wails at the many visitors who crowd around his crib. His identity is unknown. His age,

according to hospital staff, is between four and five months. He is simply and famously known as Baby No. 81,

the 81st admission to the ward this year. Baby No. 81's awful burden is not in being unwanted, but in being

wanted too much.

So far, nine couples have claimed him as their own son. Some among them have threatened suicide if the baby

is not delivered into their arms. Countless other parents who lost their babies to the tsunami have also rushed

in to see if Baby No. 81 is theirs. The national newspapers have carried almost daily narratives about his fate.

The hospital has been so mobbed that for a while, the staff hid the baby in the operating theater every night for

his own protection.

This story, which first appeared in The New York Times, has a supercharged question. Many of them, in fact.

What will happen to Baby No. 81? Will we ever learn his true name and real identity? Who will wind up with

Baby 81, and why? How will they determine the true parents?

Finally, we should note that some stories are driven not by "what" questions, but by "how." We know before

the opening credits that James Bond will conquer the villains, but we are driven to know how.

Writers must anticipate the readers’ questions and answer them. Readers will be on the lookout for holes in the

story where key questions are left unanswered. Storytellers take these questions to a narrative level, creating in

the reader a curiosity that can only be quenched by the end of the story.


Dialogue

1. When in doubt, “said” wins out

First, be careful when adding extras to the word “said.” Consider the following:

“That is fantastic news,” he said happily.

Look right to you? If it does, you have just fallen into a very common trap. In this example, you’re actually telling

about your character’s feelings twice. The “fantastic news” part should be enough. Readers are smart. They

don’t need to be told it was said happily.

Second, be careful when replacing “said” with “more exciting” words. Check out this example:

“Why can’t I go, too?” Miranda wailed.

“Because,” Father growled, “we had a deal.”

Mother patted Miranda’s shoulder. “Next time, maybe you’ll finish your supper,” she murmured.

“Yeah, but you know I hate fish!” Miranda complained.

Using these exciting “said” words is okay, but only sparingly. Otherwise readers get annoyed. Find other ways to

indicate how something is said.

Miranda stomped her foot. “Why can’t I go, too?”

“Because,” Father said, “we had a deal.”

Mother patted Miranda’s shoulder. “Next time, maybe you’ll finish your supper.”

“Yeah, but you know I hate fish!” Miranda wailed.

One final example:

Marcy dabbed at the tear trailing down her cheek.

“I don’t think I can keep going,” she said.

Simple. Revealing. Perfect.

2. Mix actions and words

As you saw above, conversation isn’t merely an exchange of words. We use body language. We stay silent. We

mumble. We laugh. Consider the following:

“You lied to me,” said Tara.

“We did it to protect you!” said John.

Roger reached for Tara’s hand. “We didn’t want you to get hurt—”

Tara swatted his hand away. “I thought I could trust both of you.”

The physical action, mixed with dialogue, shows readers a vibrant scene. But be cautious: using action to make

your dialogue more interesting is a useful technique, but overusing it can be very distracting for readers.

3. Sidestep the obvious

Yes, you want to be as realistic as possible, but you need to strike a balance between realism and giving your

dialogue purpose. Consider the following:

“I saw John in the park the other day,” said Mike.

“Oh, did you?” asked Mary. “How’s he doing?”

“He has a new job. He has flexible working hours so he has lots more free time,” said Mike.

“Well, good for him,” said Mary. “Do you know what he wants to do with his free time?”

“No, I meant to ask him that,” said Mike.

“Hello, Mary.”

“Hi, Sylvia.”

“My, that’s a wonderful outfit you’re wearing.”

“Outfit? You mean this old thing?”

“Old thing! It looks practically new.”

“It’s not new, but thank you for saying so.”

These examples are what we call “tennis match dialogue,” where characters respond to one another without

giving the reader any new (or pertinent) information.

Your dialogue will be stronger if you sidestep the obvious:

“Hello, Mary.”

“Sylvia. I didn’t see you.”


“I need to get out of here.”

“Hello, Mary.”

“Sylvia. I didn’t see you.”


“Where is he, Sylvia?”

Good dialogue moves readers along. It doesn’t trap them in the middle of a boring conversation (we don’t like

those in real life, so why would we like them in stories?!).

4. Read it aloud

Reading your dialogue aloud (or any of your writing, actually) is a secret weapon and the quickest way to

identify problem areas. It will throw up any issues relating to pace, punctuation and flow.

When you’re reading out loud, take note of where you stumble, and fix it. Listen to what you are saying and

who is saying it. Do the words match the character? If your character is a gangster, make sure he sounds like it.

5. Keep it brief

The best dialogue is a slice, not the whole pizza. You don’t need to go into lengthy exchanges to reveal an

important truth about the characters, their motivations, and how they view the world.

6. Follow the rules of punctuation

Each new line of dialogue needs its own new paragraph. End mark punctuation (like periods, commas, etc.)

always comes inside the quotation marks. See the examples above to see how it’s done!

Excerpts from Standout Books, The Editor’s Blog, and Writer’s Digest.

class 3 mentor text homework language skills

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