Blogger: Janet Kobobel Grant
Most writers who have been working at the craft for any length of time know that verb choice can make the difference between bland writing and standout writing. I recently read the novel Longbourne and loved so much about it but especially Jo Baker’s verbs. Her novel showcases how vivid verbs transform your writing.
Early on in the book, Baker depicts the servants in this regency novel as they consume their supper, a souse or head cheese–meat jelly made from an animal’s head.The head of the servants, Mrs. Hill, has just told Sarah she has made an incorrect observation, and Sarah dislikes souse.
Note how much is conveyed via the verbs:
“…Sarah poked at the pickled brawn; Polly, feeling this to be a victory, shovelled hers up into a grin. Mr. Hill returned 
his baleful gaze to his plate….Mr. Hill scraped the jelly up to his mouth, his jaw swinging back and forth like a cow’s, to make best use of his few teeth….Sarah cut off a piece of souse, smeared it with mustard, and then horseradish, then blobbed it with black butter, spiked a slice of pickled walnut, and placed the lot cautiously between her lips.”
And here:
“She grabbed the old pelisse that hung by the back door, and ducked out into the peppery-cold morning. Pulling on the coat, her fingers fumbling with the frogging, she strode out of the yard and across the paddock, the frosted grass crunching and the rime kicking back up over her toecaps. She slipped through the side gate and turned up the lane; birds hopped and peeped in the hedgerows. She ducked into blue-black woods, and then back out into the starry morning. The sleeves hung low over her hands; she tugged up the collar and dipped her face into it; the old velvet smelt musty. She came to where the lane crested the hill, and met the drovers’ road.”
None of these verbs is unusual or little used. Yet, blended together in a paragraph, each contributes to the story in a lovely and vivid way.
The same concentrated effort to find just-right verbs applies to nonfiction as well.
Take a look at a description of a cell in The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks:
“Under the microscope, a cell looks a lot like a fried egg: It has a white (the cytoplasm) that’s full of water and proteins to keep it fed, and a yolk (the nucleus) that holds all the genetic information that makes you you. The cytoplasm buzzes like a New York City street. It’s crammed full of molecules and vessels endlessly shuttling enzymes and sugars from one part of the cell to another, pumping water, nutrients, and oxygen in and out of the cell. All the while, little cytoplasmic factories work 24/7, cranking out sugars, fats, proteins, and energy to keep the whole thing running and feed the nucleus–the brains of the operation.”
Verbs kick up the action, the reader’s engagement, and make reading a pleasure.
What techniques do you use to make sure your verbs are heavy lifters?
TWEETABLES
Writers: Are your verbs working as hard as they should? Click to tweet.
Writing: It’s about verbs. Click to tweet.
Interesting subject for a post!
To me, the verbs are effective in their grammatical context, buttressed as they are by metaphor and lucid, rich description. They form an integral part of a unique stylistic whole.
That said, it’s not really to my taste. The quotes from “Longbourne” are lovely, but rather like a very sweet, rich milkshake. I can only peruse a few “sips” at a time.
The description of cell activity from “The Immortal Life…” is charming, but again…if the whole book was like that my hamster would soon get dizzy and fall off the wheel.
My writing is at the opposite end of the spectrum. I try for a streamlined and plain-spoken delivery, without depending too much on verb or adjective choice for effective action and description.
Rather like MREs when compared to the cordon bleu cooking you’ve described, Janet.
But MREs do have their place. I hope.
Andrew, I purposely picked more descriptive paragraphs from each book to showcase the verb usage. It that sense I was highlighting the “milkshake” portions of each. Those appear only intermittently and are broken up by dialogue and more straightforward writing. None of us could handle one long description after another. And, of course, the author’s style always comes into play. Hemingway and Dickens are two very different kinds of writers. But the bottomline remains the same: strong verbs translate into strong writing.
I did have one specific question which I forgot to put in –
In the second except from “Longbourn”, the verbs “strode” and “slipped” are used in successive sentences describing extended action.
They seem to me to somewhat jarring, on the one hand expressing something like open confidence, and on the other, stealth.
I love Dickens (and was accused of writing my doctoral thesis in something of a Dickensian style), but the “leanness” of Hemingway’s approach strikes me as somewhat forced, a kind of faux-journalistic effort that results in romantic understatement.
The best verb usage I’ve ever seen – not to mention the most powerful fiction writing – is in Robert Ruark’s “Something of Value”.
Ruark’s descriptions are the literary equivalent of a fugue, counterpointing the beauty and cruelty of both his setting and his subject.
The verb choices are somewhat downplayed – he grants the reader a degree of sophistication in understanding the nature and specifics of the described action.
I think that’s one of the attractions of his style – he’s talking to the reader as an equal.
Andrew, in terms of the verbs “strode” and “slid” in Baker’s second paragraph, I read it as Sarah moving with purpose as she started her walking journey through the cold yard and paddock and then slowing as she observed the birds. That could just be my interpretation rather than the author’s intent. We don’t know.
Janet, I love these examples of hardworking verbs that not only avoid the need for adverbs but really give you a sense of what’s going on in the characters’ heads.
Tonight I made a family favorite for supper and there was no poking. They devoured it.
Thank you for the reminder to beef up our verbs. I’ve been busy intensifying my GMC.
A writer’s work is never done.
Blessings ~ Wendy ❀
Wendy, the blessing and the bane of being a writer is that your work is never done. You never “arrive.”
This is also true for gardening. ❀ Creative pursuits make for vibrant lives.
Wendy, creative pursuits do make for vibrant lives. Brilliantly put.
Thank you, Jenni. I’ve always loved Dorothy Sayer’s quote, Man is never truly himself except when he is actively creating something.
We are made in the image of our loving Creator; therefore we love to create. ❀ Blessings on everyone’s creativity this week. ❀
Beautiful, Wendy!
My first draft spews whatever emerges from my mind. How is that for some strong verb use?
I use the find feature to see my use of these words: was, were, are, is, etc. Or, if I have printed it out, I will highlight them. That tasks helps me find unnecessary adjectives and adverbs.
I am a Truman Capote fan. In his short story, “A Christmas Memory,” not a word is wasted, nor is there any purple prose. But you will devour a box of Kleenxes by the end. The Hallmark movie version of the story with Patty Duke is just as emotional.
“Spews” is a perfect active verb for first drafts. Using the find feature is a good way to locate those passive verbs.
The passages you shared do highlight rich verbs and descriptions. One technique I’m trying to get better at is understanding the mood of the scene I’m writing and finding the verbs that fit the mood.
I allow “was” and the like in my first draft, but I work hard to replace them with more descriptive verbs in future drafts. I’ll be curious to see how other people bring in strong verbs.
Keeping the mood of the moment in mind is important, or you could end up with a great verb that’s all wrong for the scene.
Nice verbs. Familiar. But I’m afraid I’d need to keep a dictionary close for Jo Baker’s noun usage. 🙂 Brawn, souse, pelisse, frogging, paddock, rime, drovers’ ….
Skloot’s work was more scientific, which might normally be a challenge, but I followed it with ease.
Ensuring verbs are heavy lifters is a challenge. I try to visualize the scene … what am I really seeing? Compare the action to others. And I use my computer’s synonym help. But … I wear out thefreedictionary.com … it’s probably my most used website.
Jo Baker did a great job of putting us into the early 1800s, but, yeah, the nouns are challenging for us 21st century readers.
I’m still a believer in a physical synonym finder. There’s nothing like paging through options and just fiddling around, looking for the perfect verb.
Shelli, thanks for admitting you would need a dictionary for those nouns. There isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not looking up definitions of words. ❀ I appreciate Google.
Thanks for sharing! I love reading books where the writing is so good I just want to sit there with a highlighter and pen making notes. 🙂
Those are my favorites, too Jennifer.
The technique I used in this passage? “Scaring myself.”
With only enough time to turn his gaze, Nez watched the Diamondback meander closer, taunting him with its indecision and uncertainty. Its tongue flicked so close to his eye, he could feel the tiny rush of air. The snake stared him down, as if revelling in the fear it unleashed, before slithering through his hair and around his head, its warm body sliding slowly against Nez’s skull. Then the deadly serpent rattled a death knell in Nez’s ear, snapped its rattler against his cheek and halted the languid retreat.
White hot terror surged through Nez’s body as the snake coiled itself beside his head.
No Creator God, I beg you! Not like this!
Abrasive warmth from the scales pressed into the skin beside Nez’s eye—so close, he dared not blink.
T’aa shoodi, Jesus.
A flick of its tongue and the Diamondback uncoiled itself from the fatal knot beside its broken prey. The beast slithered away into the loam and disappeared, leaving Nez to heave air into his lungs and wipe the tears pouring down his face.
Is your skin crawling? I hope so, because if it’s not, I need to go back and re-write stuff.
* “T’aa shoodi” means “please”.
Jennifer, I NEVER want to be close enough to a snack to feel it’s rush of air. The snack doesn’t have to bite. I’m dead from fear.
snake, not snack. Or maybe I’m the snake’s snack.
I have a healthy fear of snakes and have held many over the years. I’ve even picked up the harmless ones around here to show my kids. But you show me a beetle? And I jump up and fly. Ask my oldest son.
Only thing that I might change would be the snake’s seeming indecision, and words like “meandering”.
What makes snakes scary – at least to me, and I am afraid of rattlesnakes – is their seeming singleness of purpose. I’ve killed a bunch of them, and even when blown in half they still remain focused on That One Malign Thing. Well, the half with the head, anyway.
Their movements are imbued with a grace that only emphasizes malice, and in their stillness is the psychotic silence before the scream.
Ewwwwwww, okay, I’ll tweak the paragraph in that direction. Thanks, Andrew.
Yes, my skin crawls at the thought of a snake near my head! I shake in my boots at being feet away from a copperhead. In San Angelo, our daughter almost ran straight into a rattler. We lived near the state park … had a view from our home overlooking the state park. Dry. We saw many rattlers. But never near our heads. Ugh. I did have to walk out the back door once with a snake above on the door frame, but it was non-venomous. 🙂
Jennifer, my skin is crawling! I wanted to somehow swoop in and rescue Nez! I could feel his terror!
“…the frosted grass crunching and the rime kicking back up over her toecaps.” I can both see and hear this. What wonderful writing!
Like Jeanne, I start off with simple, utilitarian writing: She felt disappointed. Then go back in revision and try to make it stronger: Disappointment deflated her. It’s a difficult balancing act, though, I find, to write verbs that pop without calling attention to themselves. It sounds like reading LONGBOURNE would be a great way to study how to do that.
Thank you, Janet.
Christine, I’ve mentioned to several other Longbourn fans what skillful use of verbs is displayed. Most hadn’t noticed, but they loved the book. I’d say that’s what we all aim for–magnificent writing that isn’t noticed.
Great post, Janet. Just returned from a wonderful week of vacation at the ocean with my beloved. Am a bit verb-less at the moment as I toddle about and resume routines. As always, the insights shared by all here are delightful.
“Peeling off her socks and stuffing them into her slightly tattered sneakers, she tossed them aside with joyous abandon. Plop plop plopping her way into the crystal blue-green wave, nothing could restrain the grin that spread across her face, as she savored the delicious tickles of the soft, mushy sand squishing between her toes.” Sigh. 🙂
Micky, you’re taking me back to my recent vacation. You’ve reduced me to a lounge lizard…
My first draft: They arrived at the inn thoroughly wet and very tired.
As published: They collapsed at the inn, drenched and exhausted.
Okay, so those aren’t all verbs, but perhaps they illustrate the point you’re making.
They do indeed, David. Excellent word choice.
Re-reading the excerpts above (and those added in the comments) spurred me to try to find something in my own writing that might compare.
I found nothing, and am facing the uncomfortable thought that there’s a spice that raises genius far above pedestrian, and it’s not to be found in every cup.
Odd that you found nothing, Andrew. I routinely find the spice of genius in your comments.
Shirlee, thank you.
What I’d been looking through was my narrative fiction…and that was seemed so very flat, when compared to what I’ve seen.
The use of verbs in the examples Janet gave is a little bit like Impressionist painting. Even when you know how it’s done, there is that leaping trout-flash of sheer verve that is the difference between Monet and those who would imitate him.
It’s more than the stroke of the master, because mastery implies a progression of developed skill. There is that, but in the end it’s the leap from the wall, KNOWING that one can fly.
And maybe that is the difference – the confidence become knowing, that makes brings the impossible within reach.
I just want to say I love these “story crafting” posts because they always push me away from surfing and back to writing. Now, off to examine the verbs in my WiP… 🙂
Elissa, my work is done here if I’ve moved you back into working on your WIP.
Vivid verbs … I’m uploading that phrase into my CPU!
As I (contemplate/muddle through/attack) the first revision of my WIP, I’ll (anticipate/avoid/meet head-on) the challenge of finding those perfect verbs.
Thanks, Janet! 😉
Clever, Kathy.
God, to me, is a verb not a noun.
Yeah, Donnie … God is …. Can’t put Him in a box! 🙂
Very interesting. I am currently working on the last edit of my novel–if there is such a thing as last edit–it had not occurred to me to look at how strength of the verbs. Great idea! Thank you
Susan, the timing of this blog was perfect for you then, wasn’t it?
Indeed verbs do paint your picture. My young protag in the swamps:
As the propeller stirred up smells of rotted seaweed and dead fish, I stared out into the swamp. A cypress tree all draped in silver moss stared back at me like a crooked old woman dipping her hair into the muddy bayou. Its twisted limbs reached out to me. I shuddered.
Oooh, creepy. Love it! I’ve spent beaucoup hours up to my eyeballs in places like that, and you REALLY caught the subtle, almost supernatural menace.
Could I make two suggestions, as a reader? First, you’ve got the word “stared” in successive sentences. Might one be replaced? It kind of tripped the flow for me. Maybe “I raised my eyes to look into the swamp.” That would shift focus from what the propeller brought up to the tree, and you (the narrator) would become the object of the tree’s “action”.
Second, you could probably use “draped” rather than “all draped”. To my ear, it gives the tree a bit more authority, being something of a character in its own right.
Rita, thanks for sharing your word picture with us. I can envision the smell…unfortunately.
My favorite technique isn’t necessary using verbs that, in and of themselves, are real zingers. Instead, I try to place verbs outside of their typical environs. I like a verb that works metaphorically…or, a verb popping up in a context that’s almost ironic. (It’s sort of like when you were a kid, and you spotted your teacher at the grocery store. You saw this woman five days a week, and yet it was thrilling for her to materialize anywhere outside of the school building. Right?)
Here’s an example. I was blogging over the summer re: my experience with a dry-heaving toddler. He was buckled up in the SUV, more specifically, in his 2-days-new carseat. Rather than saying the seat was about to be “covered” in vomit (I apologize that this is thoroughly gross), I said that it “was about to be christened in stomach stew.”
Ok, the alliteration helps. And it’s a bit theatrical. But it packs a wollup, right?
Becky, ooo, gross, but a great verb choice and phrasing.
Janet,
How do you feel about turning nouns into verbs?
As in, “He quirked an eyebrow.”
I spot quirking eyebrows in nearly every inspirational novel and it drives me nuts.
The other day, my husband and I tried quirking our eyebrows at each other, and we couldn’t do it.
I’m all for using vivid verbs, but inserting unusual nouns as verbs in a lame attempt to show a character’s emotion? Not so much.
Laura, there is the well-done and the overdone. I would put quirked eyebrows in the overdone category. Thanks for reminding us that sometimes writers’ imaginations can become too inventive.
As with all rules, each one must be applied judiciously (ouch, that’s an adverb) Rules are not laws. Our job as writers, is to learn them and understand them so that we can choose to ignore them with awareness and intent.
I do have one character “quirk” his eyebrows. I think readers “see” what I mean. To say it another way would be less effective. Language evolves all the time. There are habits that annoy me, too. We all have our pet peeves. In a way, I’m glad we don’t all obey all the rules all the time. It would cause a sameness that would make reading boring.
Great post—and perfect timing as I start another round of editing. I’ll be sure to give some extra attention to my choice of verbs.
I’m also going to get my hands on a copy of Longbourn. The excerpt you shared piqued my interest!
Jenni, I’m glad the post was helpful–and to gain another Longbourn fan.
Lucy Maud Montgomery’s descriptions drew me in from the start. When I re-read the books now I skip them, but I loved them in the beginning.
When I write my first draft I don’t stress over the descriptions. I write what comes to mind and then rewrite using stronger verbs afterwards.
Whenever I teach a class about writing, I share one of my favorite tips: avoid using be verbs.
Forbidding my high school students to use such verbs drove them crazy but ultimately made them hunt for better, stronger verbs. I force myself to do the same.