Eva Sandor's Blog

“I’ve noticed one massive problem for me with writing... any time I try to describe something I get really paranoid im just bloating my story ... I despratly [sic] want to describe them but none of my writing teachers ever bothered to talk about it in a positive manner and im sick of the “SHOW DON’T TELL, never describe” routine.

Does anyone have any advice on describing?”

A redditor asked about writing description, admitting s/he is sick of the old “show, don’t tell routine”. I’ve talked about this before— about how that advice was originally meant for screenwriters— but a lesser-known aspect of it is how your readers do their part decorating the set.

Another subreddit I chat in a lot is r/Better Call Saul. Have you seen this show? Lots of us love it because it's such a terrific example of what's known as visual storytelling— moments when the camera shows the story. Like when a character makes his (soon-to-be-ex) wife a cappucino... and she picks it up and dumps it into her travel cup without even noticing that her husband put a peace sign latte art on top of it.

“Show, don't tell” was originally meant as advice for screenwriters, to get them thinking in terms of the visual storytelling I mentioned above. As an author, you have the opportunity to do it all: visual storytelling, dialogue and description (expository writing). Such power!

In writing, YOU are the camera, the actors, the set design and everything in between. Imagine yourself directing a movie: in the scene you’re “filming”, would you insist something look a certain way? Would you tell the cinematographer to take care that something be lighted just so, or ask that a specific prop be used, a certain costume be worn? If yes, that’s the thing you should be describing in your writing.

If, on the other hand, your scene includes plenty of elements that really could be any which way— you leave the rest of your crew to sort them out— well, your readers' imaginations are the rest of your crew. If you've trained them well (meaning: your writing is appropriate in mood, vocabulary, etc) then they will probably fill in your scene with appropriate stuff, all on their own. Yes, you should be on guard for that one guy who might put a stuffed moose in the hospital room set... but overall, people are pretty good at this.

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“What makes a world feel ‘fleshed out’ and deep? ”

It’s been many months since I posted here on the blog, and that’s for many reasons. But I won’t go into them… I’ll just put this here for your consideration. Someone on Reddit asked the question above, and here’s the reply I gave.

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This morning I've been reading Fritz Leiber stories. They're not all fantasies— some are sci-fi, some are horror, some are glowing hybrids. But they feel rich for, I think, the same reason that the drawings of a master are so valuable for a fellow artist to look upon.

Who was it who said the majesty of an iceberg comes from the fact that nine-tenths of it is underwater? That sense of power held back is what makes a master artist so mesmerizing, giving depth to what they create. When you look at one of Gustav Klimt's drawings, you know perfectly well that the man understood the construction of the thing he was depicting, fully and absolutely, and was now going beyond that simple ability to depict and instead was thinking on paper. Thinking thoughts wider and brighter than yours, letting you see them, making you grateful you got that chance.

So. On to writing.

If a writer describes something in ways that are simple yet wholly new— or uses well-worn old phrases with a wink and nod that brings them startling freshness— or gives the sense that what s/he has put on the page is in no way the entirety of her imagination on the subject, but only the most immediately necessary fragment from some neatly stored vastness— then we feel the weight. And we love it.

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Since writing this, I’ve found that the originator of “iceberg theory” is said to be Hemingway. And you can see some of Klimt’s drawings in high-def scans here.

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Today I joined host Matt Struven on his podcast, “Writers Are People Too”.

Yes, indeed we are— and sometimes we’re even captured on video (you have to be quick, though— we tend to slither hurriedly back into our lairs). Watch now!

Once again, I was a guest on the delightful Story King Podcast, hosted by author Giancarlo Ghedini. This time around we talked about series arcs, book marketing and the new term “Small-Scale Fantasy”. Have a listen on your favorite platform!

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Want to check out something weird, but true?

Maybe you do, but maybe you don’t. I’ve found that a surprising number of people are on board for the first part— the weirdness— but not so much for the second. They hate it when miracles get debunked. They act as though, by pointing out the real-life explanation for some uncanny phenomenon, you’ve stolen something from them.

I never understood this. Some time ago I even summed it up in what I thought was a witty little aphorism: “Who needs the supernatural when the natural is so super?”. I’m not sure why that didn’t catch on. I think it’s pretty damn slick.

But anyhow. For me, learning that something astonishing has a mundane explanation doesn’t destroy its beauty. In fact it does the exact opposite— it demonstrates that our world does indeed contain wonders. And my books reflect that. The slang of Granny Almantree’s criminal crew, the flight of the cranes over the Breathless Heights, the hundred-plus towers bristling up out of the plazas of Spireburgh— all have counterparts in our own world.

So. Avid connoisseur of curiosities that I am, I thought perhaps I’d use this space to start sharing such things. As I go about my business, if it happens that I turn up a nugget of the real-life Stuff of Magic, I can post a link to it here. What do you think? Would that be fun?

Here’s one now: that bit about “Spireburgh”. The City of a Hundred Towers totally existed.

Okay, let’s be frank about the prank.

It’s been years since I came up with a really good April Fool’s gag. I think it was the classic “misplaced objects” one: Timm opened his box of morning cereal to find it full of packing peanuts, got in the car to find a stuffed animal already in the driver’s seat, that kind of thing. The genius of this one was that I had not one, not two, but just a seemingly never-ending series of such silliness. It was, as the cognoscenti used to say, a doozy.

But I haven’t really done anything too Fool-ish since. Thinking up new material at the last minute is hard, yo! (Because I always forget till the night of March 31.)

What kind of prankster are you? Do you come in prepared and kill it— or do you trust to eleventh-hour inspiration?

So it’s been a few months since I added to the blog— various reasons, hoooo boy, have I had reasons. But I’m getting back aboard now, filling the hopper with my blog staple: posts I’ve made to the fine communities of Reddit.

To that end, allow me to bring up this one… which didn’t get much traction, but was a genuine question: how to find out whether the good folks at Bob’s Burgers were inspired by my shadow puppet video?

I tweeted to the Burger-meisters. No answer. I put up this question on Reddit. I am still un-enlightened. Ah well, we may never know. But I like to think I touched a fellow artist’s life.

My answer to a Redditor who asked, how do I write a character who’s uninformed, but not stupid?

Don't think of it as "how can I show this guy isn't stupid?" so much as "how can I show this guy is SMART?".

What would a smart character do when he discovers he's been making a mistake?

He'd never make that mistake again. In fact, he might even stop another character from making that same mistake. Or better still, stop another character from making a mistake which is similar but not exactly the same thing— an action that makes readers, too, go "ah!".

What does a smart character do when he learns a piece of information that, despite being old stuff to other characters, is new to him?

A smart character doesn't just add a bit of lore to his mind stash and leave it at that. He uses that information later in the story, in an insightful way, so as to surprise and delight readers.

When a smart character comes to some new realization about his circumstances, he doesn't simply make an observation about it. He generalizes this information and applies it to another situation. "Ah! It seems that in this world XYZ applies. Well then— doesn't that mean ABC?". And this thought answers some question that's been nagging at readers.

See what I mean? The uninformed, but smart, character isn't just not-stupid. He (or she, obviously, but yours is a he) is a vehicle by which the readers themselves feel as though they are uninformed but smart, and learning quickly how to negotiate your storyworld.

A Redditor was asking whether it was all right to invent words. I replied…

If you've built up the style of writing where people expect that from you, then of course you can do that! The issue isn't so much that English has an Academy with rules (for good or ill, it does NOT), but that your skill with it determines whether readers come along with you for the thrill ride-- or bail out.

In a forum, a writer asked if it was “OK” to create a system of “soft magic”. Here’s what I told her…

Everything is OK— except doing it badly. And since all "badly" means is "in a way your readers dislike", that gives you plenty of latitude.

Write something everyone loves; write something only ONE person can tolerate; write something outrageously new; write something old and comfy. Do what you want— in art, there is no arbiter of "ok" except you.

Now. How do YOU feel about "soft magic"? Since you worry what others think of it, sounds like YOU think it's a little flimsy. Dig deeper into your reasons for that feeling— understand them— and then write something where you can step back and honestly say: "yep, I managed to avoid all that stuff that was bugging me".

That's all you can ever do. And that's OK!