Devil in the Details

Who? What? When? Where? Why? How? Those pesky questions. Before I get into the specifics of them, I'm issuing an appeal to anyone who reads this blog to tell me what the generic name for those questions is. I've searched countless site today and googled incessantly, but to no avail. Are they the cardinal questions? The Serious Six? The Short Six? The Necessary Six? They have a name, and I learned it right along with gerund and past participle, I'm sure. But my education is failing me (and Mark).

So why do I mention them? They are vital to writing. I've discovered I'm pretty good at who, what, and why. Well, so sometimes my who is limited to dialogue, hair color, and gender, but I like to think the characters translate well from my brain to paper regardless. I'm not so good at when, where, and how. The when and how are easily spotted in revisions, however, and will get fixed before the book is done. The where is rough, seeing as how I hate description. Give me a brief "small, cozy room" and let me fill in the details. Maybe tell me if there's a preponderance of pastels, but no more. I don't need to know the intimate details of each and every picture hanging on the wall, knick-knack on the shelf, throw pillow on the couch, and mote of dust in the corner. My writing style reflects this. You're luck to get more than a general descriptor: the lab, her apartment, the media room, the caverns. I can pull a little more out of myself when describing the desert or if the setting elements need description for some reason in the story. But even that is quick, to the point, and more than a little vague. I'll go ahead and toss in "sensory details" into the "where" category. I'm terrible at that, being much more interested in the thoughts and actions of my characters and the Mess I've given them to sort out. That and telling me that she ate an apple is plenty to provide the sensations of that act.

But I'm a scientist. I categorize when most people don't. I observe and stockpile knowledge as a matter of course. I've got a large store of information available for filling in gaps on my own, painting pictures to accompany words, and bringing a story to life. I can't be unique in this. Yet my writing has been criticized for being flat and sterile because it lacks sensory detail and description. At the same time, I'm also told to trust the readers more and not lead them by the hand. This does not compute. But I've heard these comments often enough and from professional sources that I have to acknowledge them and see how to adjust.

How do I do that? I can easily make one of my revision passes solely for sensory detail and descriptions of surroundings. That's easy enough. And maybe in doing so I can figure out how to incorporate it into my writing on the first draft. But what about the inherent logic of my style? Again, I suppose time and experience will remedy this, but how do I correct it in a draft? How can I tell when I'm dragging the reader along to where I want them to go? Is there a subtle nuance of plot that I'm missing?

I'm concerned that an inability to fix the latter problem will prevent my writing from being successful, and yet it's something that I can't readily see and have no idea how to fix. And my patience is already thin enough - waiting for my muse and my brain to eventually click in this area is the most likely answer but is hardly comforting when I look at Human Dignity and wonder what's the matter. It comes down to that damned ephimeral "voice" issue. It's hard to recognize where it's broken, and it's equally hard to figure out how to fix it. Just time and practise. And a daily injection of patience, which requires a prescription from God, apparently. And God just gave out his last dose.