CLARITY

by Beth Bernobich
(c) March 2002

Writers are liars. Writers are tricksters. Writers will lead a reader into a fantasy world peopled with ghosts from their imaginations.

It's a difficult feat — to convince a reader with words alone that they are seeing and hearing these ghosts. Maintaining that illusion requires trust. We writers have to earn that trust and one way is to promise a reader clarity.

But wait, we also said that writers are liars and tricksters. We are. We not only lie to a reader (unless you believe that Middle Earth exists and Eliza Bennett once lived in England), we often deliberately lead them astray.

Clarity isn't truth, but in fiction it's just as important.

So what is truth? In fiction, it's the accurate collection of known facts about our characters and their world. But a story is more than truth — it's also the lies our characters tell, and the disguises they use, and the misunderstandings and conflicts that arise. The writer builds a world, and then introduces these confusions, and from those, selects how she will present the truths and lies to the reader.

She won't tell you everything until the end. Even then, pieces will be missing.

Now enters clarity. The writer's job is to draw a map of the fictional world, so clear that the reader can follow the characters without getting confused. The writer must also paint pictures of those characters. The writer must depict events so that the pictures become moving pictures. Confuse the reader and you spoil the illusion.

So. Step one. Figure out exactly what the reader must know in order to understand what's going on. (Easier said than done, I know.) Show enough of the setting that the reader won't get lost in the subsequent escape scene. Add dialog and mannerism to your character so they can show off their qualities both alone and with each other. When you plot a scene, identify the key points of action as well as the goal of that scene — that will tell you which point of view to use and how to describe the events themselves.

The writer might also decide to mislead the reader for a time. What about clarity then? Well, the writer still makes the same decisions as before — what are the details of this world, what is the setting, who are the characters? She also decides exactly how she wants to mislead the character — and why. Throwing in red herrings without cause, or being deliberately obscure as an artistic effect or because you think it's cute or clever is a writing crime, in my opinion.

So. Step two. Figure out when it's important to hide clues. Figure out where the reader must find out the truth. Pick a point of view that shows only what you want to show the reader. If you introduce misunderstandings, test the characters and the plot for points of weakness. For example, if Lydia Clever would normally see right through Biff Buff's lies, her deception and the reader's would be short. However, if she finds other clues that lead her astray, clues that advance the plot in other ways, then the deception can work.

Once we get to the end, we know the truth — or do we? The writer might reasonably decide to leave certain truths hidden, or certain parts of the story unfinished. The same principles apply here as before. If the writer leaves a character's story unfinished, it's generally better if the writer gives enough hints that the reader can visualize a possible outcome. If some truths are left hidden, the writer ought to know how much and she better have a damned good reason for doing that.

(Note: writing a series or a roman-fleuve has other requirements beyond the scope of this essay. Assume here that we are talking about a stand-alone novel or short story.)

So. Step three. Find the story's ending point. Identify which threads must be resolved and which are better left suggested. Give the reader enough hints that he isn't left stranded or confused.

Be aware. Be clear. §