Formatting Like a Microsoft Word Ninja

“Format guidelines were not instituted to drive you crazy. That’s just a perk.”
—Janet Reid, Literary Agent

The other day I was reading a blog post by agent-blogger Janet Reid (of Query Shark fame), who had some interesting things to say about the importance of manuscript formatting:

“I’m reading (as are all other agents and editors) a LOT of manuscripts,” she said. “When mss follow a consistent format, it helps me assess the pacing. If I get to page twenty and I haven’t yet gotten a glimmer of what’s at stake for Our Hero/ine, then I know there’s a problem. It’s essential that page twenty be about the same amount of words across the board.”

She went on to note that page 20 comes at about the 6,000-word mark if the text is formatted in Times New Roman. In Verdana, the 20-page point will come at about 5,000 words. With Courier, it’s more like 4,400 words.

Simply put, formatting matters. If you follow standard formatting conventions of font size, margin width, and so on, professional readers (including agents, editors and publishers) have an easier time gauging the pacing of your book. Even more importantly, formatting your work correctly can make you look more professional—and more “serious” as a writer.

I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that Microsoft Word is still the number one tool writers use to, well, write. (Yes, I know there are other programs, and I know a lot of writers are migrating to Google Docs.) As I scrolled down the comments on Reid’s post, I was amazed at how many writers don’t know how to perform the simplest formatting in Word. We’re talking basic stuff: auto-indenting paragraphs, inserting chapter breaks, inserting automatic page numbers, and so on. I was flabbergasted to hear some people still indent their paragraphs by hitting the space key five times, or that anyone would manually number the pages of a manuscript. But apparently, Reid sees this all the time.

Since I’m something of a Microsoft Word ninja, I thought I might pass on some important skills to help you get your manuscript submission-ready. The post will be long, but I’m hoping it will be helpful.

MS-Word-Ninja

First, a quick Q&A:

Q: Is there a standard industry formatting convention?
A: No, there isn’t a single, super-secret document that tells you exactly how to format your manuscript for submission. Some publishing pros still want manuscripts formatted in Courier. Others prefer a 1.5″ left margin because they spiral-bind their submissions. Check the agent’s or publisher’s submission guidelines before doing your final formatting.

Q: What makes you an “expert”?
A: I edit and format documents for a living. In putting together this post, I consulted about a dozen sites on manuscript formatting, most published by authors, editors, and other industry insiders. I’ll throw a few of the more helpful links down below.

Q: Can’t I just format my manuscript any old way?
A: Absolutely! But if you want to be taken seriously, you should consider using the formatting that agents, editors and publishers prefer.

Q: But isn’t Comic Sans more “fun” than Times New Roman?
A: No. Using Comic Sans in any context other than a hastily printed “Restroom Out of Order” sign is a crime against humanity. Stop the madness!

Basic Formatting Guidelines

Most of the sources I consulted agreed on the basics:

  • Pages: Pages should be letter-sized (8.5″ x 11″), oriented vertically with one-inch margins all around.
  • Font: Text should be in 12-point Times New Roman. When emphasis is needed, italics (and not underlining or boldface) should be used.
  • Paragraphs: Paragraphs should be aligned left (not justified) and double-spaced with no extra padding above or below the paragraphs. The first line of each paragraph should be indented by half an inch.
  • Chapters: Each chapter should begin on a new page. Center “CHAPTER” (in all caps) and then the chapter number at the top of each chapter, then begin the text of the chapter four to six lines below that.
  • Page Numbers/Headers: Page numbering should begin on the first page of Chapter 1, and should continue unbroken to the end of the book. Manuscripts should have a header that includes the author’s name and a shortened title of the work.

CAVEAT: I’m using Microsoft Word 2016, so if you have an older version, some of the controls and menus may show up in different places.

Formatting Pages

pages-tools

To configure your document in Microsoft Word, click on the Layout tab and set the overall document formatting using the first three icons.

  • Margins: Click the Margins icon and select Normal (1″ on top, bottom, left and right).
  • Orientation: Click the Orientation icon and make sure the document is configured for Portrait (vertical) instead of Landscape (horizontal) display.
  • Size: Click the Size icon and make sure your pages are set to Letter 8.5″ x 11″.

That’s it. Once you configure these settings, they should apply to your entire document.

Formatting Fonts

font-menuThe preferred font for most agents and editors is 12-point Times New Roman. To format your manuscript font, first select the Home tab.

Select all of the text in your document by pressing Ctrl-A (⌘-A on a Mac). With all of the text selected, pull down the Font menu and scroll down the alphabetic list of fonts until you find Times New Roman. Click to select it.

font-size-menuNext, with the text still selected, click on the Font Size menu (it’s right beside the font menu) and select 12.

Now here’s a trick a lot of people don’t know about. Select one of your paragraphs, either by clicking in the left margin of the document or by triple-clicking somewhere in the paragraph. If you consult the Styles menu, you’ll see that your paragraph is probably defined as “Normal” (default) style. The styles show up as rectangular tiles on the menu, and you know the style of the current selection because it’s outlined in gray. To ensure that Word doesn’t default back to Calibri (or some other font) at random, right-click on the “Normal” style tile and select “Update Normal to Match Selection.”

styles-tiles

Formatting Paragraphs

One of the biggest mistakes some writers make with manuscripts is with paragraph indenting. As Reid mentioned in her post, some writers still use the “five spaces” method to create an indent. Others tab over to the 0.5-inch tab stop. If you’re doing either of these things, stop now! You’ll have no excuse once you know how to indent your paragraphs the right way.

indent-before-after

To get started, select one of your “Normal” paragraphs by clicking in the left margin or triple-clicking somewhere in the paragraph. Once you’ve done this, look for the Ruler (it should literally look like a ruler) above the text, right below the menu ribbon. If you don’t see it, click to the View tab and check the box next to “Ruler” in the “Show” section of the ribbon menu. At the zero position on the ruler you’ll see a widget that looks like an hourglass with a rectangle at the bottom. Click and drag the top half of the hourglass over to the tick mark at exactly between the left margin and the 1″ mark. The first line of your selected paragraph should now be indented by exactly half an inch.

update-normal-styleOf course, that’s just one paragraph. You’ve got lots, right? Make sure the Home tab is selected, then right-click on the “Normal” style tile and select “Update Normal to Match Selection.” This will automatically indent all the paragraphs in your document.

“But wait!” you may be thinking. “I don’t want my chapter headings or section breaks indented!” Don’t worry. We’ll fix that.

align-leftNow let’s make sure the other paragraph settings are correct. With a paragraph selected, click the “Align Left” button on the “Paragraph” menu of the Home Ribbon. You can also press Ctrl-L (⌘-L on a Mac). Please resist the urge to justify your right margin. Though justified text looks nice and polished (published, even), professional readers hate justification because the variable spacing makes the copy hard to edit.

line-spacingRight beside the “Justified button,” though, is the line-spacing icon. Pull down this menu and select “2.0” to double-space your text. If the “Remove Space Before Paragraph” option shows up at the bottom of this menu, pull it down again and click it. Do the same thing is “Remove Space After Paragraph” appears on the menu. You don’t want this extra padding.

Once you’ve aligned your paragraph and fine-tuned the line spacing, right-click on the “Normal” style in the style menu again and select “Update Normal to Match Selection.” This will apply the formatting changes to all of your “Normal” paragraphs.

Fixing What You Broke

What if you’re reformatting a work in progress that uses tabs (or, deity forbid, spaces) to indent each paragraph?

First of all, AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH! Second of all, it’s easy to fix.

Press Ctrl-H (⌘-H on a Mac) to open the “Find and Replace” dialog box. This box is movable, so you can drag it off to one side if you have enough screen real estate. The window opens in its default configuration, but you’ll want the “Word ninja” version. Click the “More>>” button to expand the box to maximum ninja power.

find-replace-dialog

First, click the “Find what” field. Find the “Special” menu at the bottom of the dialog and select “Paragraph Mark.” Word will insert “^p” into the “Find what” field.

Second, if you’ve been using five spaces to indent, click directly after “^p” and type five spaces. (Since they’re spaces, you won’t see them in the box. But they’re there.) If you’ve been using a manual tab to indent, Select the “Special” menu again and select “Tab character.” After you do this, you’ll see “^p^t” in the “Find what” field.

Third, click the “Replace with” field. Pull down the “Special” menu (at the bottom of the box) and select “Paragraph Mark.” Word will insert “^p” into the “Replace with” field.

What you’re telling Word is to look for a tab character (or five spaces), but only at the beginning of a paragraph (right after a paragraph mark). When Word finds this pattern, it will replace it with just a paragraph mark, effectively deleting the stuff you don’t want.

If you’re feeling cocky, click the “Replace All” button and let ‘er rip. If not, click “Find Next” and then “Replace” again and again until you feel brave enough to just click “Replace All.”

Now, repent and never use tabs or spaces again to indent your paragraphs.

Formatting Chapters

Now it’s time to put some structure into your manuscript. I know a lot of people don’t bother using styles, but in my opinion, you can’t afford not to use them.

Each chapter in your novel should begin on a new page. You can create a page break two different ways. The clunky way is to click the Insert tab, then click the “Page Break” icon. The easier way is to press Ctrl-Enter (⌘-Enter on a Mac). If you’re editing with white space hidden—that is, if the document looks like one continuous strip of white—the page break will show up as a horizontal gray line across the document window. If white space is being displayed, and the text is broken into discrete pages, you’ll see an actual new page.

page-breaks

center-textNow let’s create a chapter heading. Type “CHAPTER,” followed by a space, followed by your chapter number. Right now, the heading is probably formatted like all of your other text: 12-point Times New Roman, indented half an inch. Select the heading, either by clicking in the left margin or by triple-clicking on the heading itself. Then center the heading, either by clicking the “center” icon on the Home ribbon, or by pressing Ctrl-E (⌘-E on a Mac). Then, with the heading still selected, drag the top of the ruler’ “hourglass” widget to the zero position so your chapter heading isn’t indented.

unindent-before-after

Now let’s style the heading as a heading. Find the “Heading 1” tile on the Styles menu, but don’t click it! Instead, right-click on the tile and select “Update Heading 1 to Match Selection.” Boom—this updates the style and applies the style to the heading.

heading-1-style

navigation-paneHere’s the awesome part. When you style chapter headings as “Heading 1,” they show up on the “Headings” list on the Navigation Pane. (If you don’t see the Navigation Pane on the left side of your document window, click the View tab and check the box next to “Navigation Pane.” It also shows up when you press Ctrl-F or ⌘-F to Find text.) Now scroll down through your document, styling each of your chapter headings as “Heading 1.” As you do this, they’ll appear in the Navigation Pane. This menu of headings is interactive, so when you click on a heading, Word takes you straight to that chapter in your document. As you edit, Word highlights the heading of the chapter you’re working on, helping you keep track on where you are in your book.

This is one of the most indispensable features in Microsoft Word. Use it to your advantage!

The text of your chapter should begin four to six lines below your chapter heading. Since both your “Normal” and “Heading 1” styles are double-spaced, this means you should leave either one or two blank paragraphs between the heading and beginning of your chapter. Now go through your manuscript and make sure everything is consistent.

Extra-Special Awesomeness

While you’re drafting, you can make your life even easier by adding a brief description to your chapter headings. For example: “CHAPTER 1 – Sally meets Billy at the park,” “CHAPTER 2 – Sally goes to school,” and “CHAPTER 3 – Billy loses his socks.” These descriptions show up on your Navigation Pane, forming a clickable quick-reference outline of your entire story as you go. (If the Navigation Pane truncates the heading, just hover your mouse over it and the entire thing will be displayed.)

navigation-summary

Obviously, you’ll want to go through and delete these descriptions before you send your manuscript to an agent, editor or publisher. But while you’re actively drafting and editing, they’re really helpful.

Formatting Scene Breaks

Scene breaks, also known as section breaks or blank-line breaks, are those separators within chapters that usually appear in published novels as an extra space between blocks of paragraphs. When they fall at the bottom or top of a page, they’re sometimes indicated by a short line, a row of asterisks, or sometimes an ornamental glyph.

create-new-styleIn your manuscript, scene breaks should be set off as a separate, double-spaced paragraph, with either a number sign “#” (or “hashtag” if you’re under 20) or a row of three asterisks “***” centered between the margins. You shouldn’t include any additional blank lines before or after the scene breaks.

The easiest way to manage scene breaks is to set up a style to handle them. To do this, type your “#” (or “***”) and format it correctly by centering the paragraph and eliminating the indent. Then right-click the selected paragraph and find the “Styles” icon on the pop-up menu. (It should be on the top one, at the far right.) Pull this down and click on “Create a style.” This will open a dialog box called “Create New Style from Formatting.” Name your style “Scene Break” and click “OK.”

The “Scene Break” style will appear as a new tile on the “Styles” menu on the Home ribbon. Now, when you want to create a scene break, just type “#” or “***” and click on “Scene Break” and Word will format it for you. Easy peasy.

style-scene-break

Title Page and Table of Contents

Do you need a title page? Yes. Do you need a table of contents? Not necessarily, but if you’re going to export your manuscript as an e-book for alpha or beta readers, a table of contents can really come in handy.

Title Page

Title page format is one of the least standardized manuscript elements. Opinions vary, but most everyone agrees that the following elements must be included:

  • Title of the work
  • Author
  • Author’s contact information
  • Word count

Some sources suggest that you include the work’s genre as well as information about your agent, if you have one.

title-page

Click to View Larger Image

Here’s a good template for a title page, based on an analysis of a number of industry recommendations. Beginning at the top of the page, at the left margin, type your name (on one line), your address (on two lines) and your phone number and email address (on separate lines). Single-space this block of text.

Skip down to roughly the middle of the page and type the title of your work, in all caps, centered on the page. Skip a line and type “by,” then skip a line and type your name. Skip two lines and type “### Words,” replacing “###” with the word count of your manuscript, rounded to the nearest hundred. (Some guides say to the nearest 1,000.)

You can add your genre if you want, though if an agent or publisher has requested a manuscript they probably already know the genre of the work.

One thing you shouldn’t bother putting on your cover page is a copyright notice. But don’t take it from me; take it from Janet Reid:

Your work is protected by copyright law as soon as you write it.

Once your work is sold to a publisher, there’s a clause in your publishing contract that says the publisher will register the work with the US Copyright office.

You should not register something with the copyright office at the query stage. And you also don’t need to put the (c) notice on your manuscript.

Basically, including a copyright notice in your manuscript makes you look like a newb, and you don’t want that, do you?

Table of Contents

Sure, you can create a manual table of contents, but why would you want to do that when it’s so easy to have Word create one for you?

toc-menuThe table of contents should come directly after the title page. First, create a new page by pressing Ctrl-Enter (⌘-Enter on a Mac). Type “Contents” or “Table of Contents” and format as a heading by clicking the “Heading 1” style. Then hit Enter a couple of times.

Now click to the References tab. (In some previous versions of Word, this feature was in the Insert tab under “References.”) Click on the “Table of Contents” icon and select “Custom Table of Contents…” In the dialog box that opens, make sure that “Tab leader” is selected to a row of dots, and click the down arrow beside the “Show levels” setting until the number is “1.” Then click “OK.”

toc-dialogYou should now have a table of contents containing the names and page numbers of all of the chapters you’ve marked using the “Heading 1” style. To make sure the table is formatted correctly, select it by clicking on the table and then un-indent the lines using the top-hourglass slider in the Ruler. Make sure the font, font size, and other settings are consistent with the rest of your document. When you’ve done this, right-click on one of the lines, pull down the “Styles” menu and click “Create a Style.” Call this style “Table of Contents” and click “OK.”

The table of contents doesn’t track your content in real time, so you’ll have to tell Word when you want it to update. To do this, right-click on the table and select “Update Field.” An “Update Table of Contents” dialog box will open. Click the radio button beside “Update entire table” and click “OK.” Voila! All of your chapters, chapter headings, and page numbers will synch up with what’s in your manuscript.

Formatting Headings and Page Numbers

Remember Janet Reid’s comment about the crucial page 20? The only way readers will know when they arrive on page 20 is if the pages are numbered. What really blew me away was when Reid said, “Recently I’ve had several authors who have inserted page numbers by hand….” Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? This actually happens? Yes, and apparently it’s not uncommon. This means, of course, that one little change to the text on page one can throw off the pagination for the rest of the manuscript. For the love of Mike, don’t do this!

Besides page numbers, another key aspect of manuscript formatting conventions is the inclusion of a header at the top of every page. Imagine a busy agent carrying a stack of five unbound manuscripts. She drops the stack and the pages get mixed up. Without a header on each page, the agent wouldn’t be able to sort the identically formatted manuscripts back into proper order.

Here’s another tricky part. The cover page should not have a header on it. Any pages before the first content page of your book should use lower-case Roman numerals. The actual numbering should restart at chapter one (or your prologue, if you have one), so that page 20 comes at the actual 20th page of the text of your book. We’ll call this point the “story beginning.”

Here’s how to make that all happen.

To get started, go to the View tab and make sure “Print Layout” is selected under “Views.” (The other options are “Read Mode” and “Web Layout.” You don’t want either.) Now, look at the page breaks in your document. If you see just a gray line (and not actual page boundaries), position your cursor over the gray line. It will change to the “Show white space” cursor, which looks like a capital H with up/down arrows in the pockets. Double-click on the line and you’ll expand the continuous page to individual pages.

expand-page-breaks

You can collapse this later in the same way: just point to the break and double-click.

chapter-title-click-here

Now we need to convert the page break before your first chapter or prologue to a section break. Click to the Layout tab and click right before your first chapter heading. The insertion point should be right to the left of the word “CHAPTER” (or “PROLOGUE”) at the story beginning.

breaks-section-next-pageNow find the “Breaks” option in the “Page Setup” section of the Layout tab. Pull down the menu and click on the “Next Page” option under “Section Breaks.” Nothing will look different, but this is a crucial change.

Click over to Word’s Insert tab. Click the “Header” icon and select “Edit Header.” (You can also double-click directly on the header to edit it.) The ribbon will change to include some new options only available when working with headers. (“Header and Footer Tools” under the Design Tab.)

link-to-previous.pngFirst, find the “Navigation” section of the Design tab. You’ll see an option called “Link to Previous” that is probably selected (grayed out). Click on it to deselect it. The “Same as Previous” message at the bottom, left of the header will go away. You should now just see “Header -Section 2-.”

Click on the header area and type the following: Your last name, a slash, a shortened title of your book, a slash, then the word “Page.” For example, if your name is Smith and your book is called “The Short, Happy Life of Wendell Jones,” you might type something like, “Smith/Wendell Jones/Page.” If word is indenting the heading, move the top-hourglass widget back to the zero position to make it stop.

insert-page-number

With your cursor still at the end of the header line, press Ctrl-R (⌘-R on a Mac) to right-align the text. (You could also click back to Home and click on the Align Right icon in the Paragraph menu, but this is quicker.) Now, with your insertion point to the right of “Page,” type a space and then click the “Page Number” icon on the Design ribbon. From the menus, select “Current Position” and then “Plain Number.” The number you see will likely be 2 or 3 or even higher.

page-number-formatClick on the “Page Number” icon again and select “Format Page Numbers.” The “Page Number Format” dialog box will open. Make sure the number format is set to “1, 2, 3, …” Down where it says “Page numbering,” Click the radio button next to “Start at” and make sure the number next to it is “1.” When you click “OK,” you should see the page number at the story beginning change to “1.”

What you do next depends on how much “stuff” you have before the first actual page of your story.

If you just have a title page…

Scroll back to your title page. The label beneath it should say “Header -Section 1-.” You’ll probably see a duplication of the header you used for your main chapters. Select the whole header by triple-clicking on the text and hit delete. Click “Close Header and Footer” and you’re done!

If you have a title page and other stuff…

If you’ve added a table of contents or other pages before your story beginning (like a dedication page), you’ll want to retain the header, except for on the title page, but change the numbering before the story beginning.

Scroll up to the page right after your title page. This is likely where your table of contents or acknowledgments page is. If the header isn’t selected for editing, double-click on it to edit.

Click on the “Page Number” icon and select “Format Page Numbers.” The “Page Number Format” dialog box will open. Click on the “Number format” menu and set to “i, ii, iii, …” then click “OK.” Now click on the checkbox next to “Different First page” under the “Options” section of the ribbon. Then click “Close Header and Footer.”

If you did everything correctly, the title page should display no header at all, and the first page after that (but before the story beginning) will have the “Name/Title/Page ii” combination on it. The header at your story beginning should be “Name/Title/Page 1.” Mission accomplished! Once you set this up, you shouldn’t ever have to mess with the headers again … unless you change your title (or your name).

A Few More Formatting Conventions

Spaces Between Sentences

If you know what a “typewriter” is, you were probably taught at some point to hit the space bar twice after sentence-final punctuation (periods, question marks, exclamation points, close quotes). If this old practice is still fossilized in your mind, it’s time to re-train your brain. If you can’t get out of the habit, use “Find and Replace” (Ctrl-H or ⌘-H on a Mac) to find all of your double-spaces and replace them with single spaces.

Formatting for Chapter Beginnings

Published novels will oven employ drop caps or a line of words in small caps at the beginning of chapters. Resist the urge to so this in your manuscripts. Agents and editors don’t want manuscripts that look frou-frou and professionally typeset—they just want a clean, simple copy they can read quickly.

Italics, Underlining and Boldface

Most formatting guides indicate that you shouldn’t use underlining or boldface anywhere in your manuscript. If you need to emphasize a word or phrase, use italics. Back when typewriters were the state of the art, underlining was the norm. Today, italics are standard. To quickly set text into italics, press Ctrl-I (⌘-I on a Mac).

Manuscript Format Links

16 Manuscript Format Guidelines (Daily Writing Tips)

How to Format a Novel Manuscript (Scribophile)

Correctly Formatting Your Novel Manuscript (Advanced Fiction Writing)

Format Your Novel for Submission (The Editor’s Blog)

What Are the Guidelines for Formatting a Manuscript? (Writer’s Digest)

Proper Manuscript Format for a Novel (First Manuscript)

______________________________
David-Profile-PicDavid Baker is an author, playwright, marketing professional, blogger and freelance editor. He has ghost-written several books and authored dozens of published articles on such topics as business technology, the insurance industry, marketing and data security. He writes both YA and “grown-up” fiction and is actively querying several projects. He also edits the monthly journal of a national trade organization. In his spare time, he runs marathons, volunteers with young people, cooks curries, paints shoes and builds things. He has an A.A. in theater, a B.A. in English and an M.A. in linguistics. Born in Arizona, raised in Hawaii, currently living in Utah, David is actively involved in theater. His stage play, Inside Al, won the Henry Fonda Young Playwright Award and premiered at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, DC. The play is published by Samuel French and has been in near-continuous production for more than two decades, with hundreds of performances across the US and Canada. You can find his personal blog at blog.bakerdavid.com.

Writing with Emotion: the Objective Correlative

In a recent Writer’s Unboxed post, agent and writing pro Donald Maass talks about the importance of writing emotion—and the frequency with which authors get it wrong. Three weeks ago, I attended a workshop by Martine Leavitt, who argued that relying on descriptions of a character’s internal emotions only serves to bore, or worse, distance the readers. (She said she never wanted to read about a character’s stomach or heart again.)

As I listened to her speak, I felt convicted—and made a note to go back through my MS looking for just those words. But beyond feeling guilty, I was frustrated: if emotion was so powerful, but I’m not supposed to tell readers what characters are feeling and I’m not supposed to show it through physical symptoms, what am I supposed to do?
Well, one option, as Maass suggests, is to focus on “third level emotions”—to describe the character’s reflections on their own emotions and bring readers into the moment.
Another option, what Leavitt advocates, is the objective correlative.
If, like me a three weeks ago, you’ve never heard of the concept, let me explain.
 3c29edcadd932f5068225268899ad423
 
I’m not an expert on the topic, but I find it a provocative one; I’ve been trying to study up on it and thought my research might help someone besides just me. And because I tend to do best with concrete examples, I’ve tried to include lots of examples to illustrate the concept.
The term “objective correlative” comes from T. S. Eliot who borrowed it from nineteenth-century artist Washington Allston: the “objective correlative” refers to “a set of objects, a situation, a chain of events which shall be the formula of that particular emotion; such that when the external facts, which must terminate in sensory experience, are given, the emotion is immediately evoked.” In other words, rather than showing us the physical symptoms of emotion or telling us what the character feels, an author gives us an
object–a physical thing, a landscape, etc.—and endows that with meaning so that we’re able to recognize what the character feels, and, more importantly, feel it ourselves.
Eliot argues that Shakespeare uses this masterfully: we discover Lady Macbeth’s state of mind through the images that her night waking accumulates; Hamlet’s own inability to process his emotions stems from the fact that he lacks a metaphor or objective outlet that can encompass all that he’s feeling.
Below, I outline four ways to use the objective correlative:
  1. Through objects
  2. Through metaphors
  3. Through point-of-view description
  4. Through a situation or chain of events.

1. Sometimes the objective correlative uses objects endowed with meaning to underscore a character’s emotional arc.

A classic example of the use of objects comes from Tennessee Williams’ Glass Menagerie. One of the main characters, a young girl named Laura who limps from a childhood bout with polio, has a collection of glass animals that she treasures. Their fragility is a symbol of her own fragility, and the plays treatment of the animals reflects her emotional state: when she feels well, she spends time polishing and arranging the creatures. But at the height of the drama, one of the animals is broken. Because we already know to associate the animals with Laura, the crushed animal underscores her crushed hopes in a devastating way.
tennessee-williams-the-glass-menagerie-3
Shannon Hale’s Goose Girl also uses a meaningful object to underscore a character’s emotional arc. When Princess Ani is sent away to marry the prince of another kingdom, her mother gives her a handkerchief:
It was made from a thin ivory cloth with green, rust, and yellow lace edging.
“The stitching was done by my grandmother.” Her voice was soft, as though to convince Ani that the words were for her alone and not a performance for the crowd. She unfastened a horse-head brooch from her breast. “My mother used to carry it, and then she gave it to me before she died. I have always felt it held a part of her. When I wear it, I feel her eyes on me, approving, guiding, protecting. So I send with you my own protection.”
The queen winced first, then stabbed her third finger with the brooch pin. She squeezed three drops of blood onto the handkerchief. Her hands were shaking. . . .
She put the stained handkerchief in Ani’s hand and held it a moment, sincerity straining her brow. “We are of one blood. I will protect you.”
All through the fraught journey to the capitol, readers see Ani draw courage and comfort from the handkerchief. But when her servants turn on her, the handkerchief highlights her despair without Hale having to describe it:
Her cold fingers fumbled at the wet fabric at her breast where the handkerchief had been. Where it should be. Ani felt for it, patted her dress, looked at the ground around her feet. It was gone. She realized that she must have lost it in the stream. It would be far away by now. Who would protect her?
Because readers have been prepped to know how important the handkerchief was, we understand how devastating its loss is–and how vulnerable she is now.

2. Sometimes the objective correlative takes the form of a metaphors that reveal a deeper truth about the character’s emotional state.

 In Chris Crowe’s Death Coming up a Hill, he uses the metaphor of a bridge to tell us how the main character feels pulled between his two parents:

. . . I looped

one arm around Dad’s neck and

reached my other armaround Mom’s. Feeling

their love for me, I tugged to

pull them closer, to

knit us into a

tight group hug, but Dad leaned right

and Mom leaned left, and

I spanned the distance

between them like a bombed-out

bridge.

A more powerful form of this metaphor might be recurring throughout a book. Martine Leavitt mentioned that in Keturah and Lord Death, she used the forest as a metaphor to reflect Keturah’s state of mind:
How thin the air felt at the forest’s edge, how ghostly the trees that guarded their realm…. The whole world seemed as delicate as a dandelion seed, and as fleeting…. How sad to know that the figment village of my imagination would not vanish when I ended, to understand that it was not I who had invented the moon the first time I realized how lovely it was. To admit that it was not my breath that made the winds blow…. [M]y heart, my heart knew that when I closed my eyes I invented the night sky and the stars too. Wasn’t the whole dome of the sky the same shape as the inside of my skull? Didn’t I create the sun and the day when I raised my eyelids every morning?

This evocative passage lets readers feel Keturah’s despair at both the transience of her existence and her immateriality: the forest, like herself, is thin and fleeting. The world spins on without her.

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Keturah-and-Lord-Death-329335143

3. Sometimes the objective correlative comes from the mood created by descriptions filtered through a particular point of view.

Maggie Stiefvater is a master at this.  Here she is, reflecting on her own process of creating emotion:


Man, I was working hard in this little section. In reality, the hallway of the
house is lush and content and established. But inside our two protagonists,
trouble brews — you can see it in the mirror. The side table, on the outside of
the glass, is docile. But the mirror-image of the tidy hallway is crazed
and twisted and rakish. Again, I could’ve just told you: on
the outside, the boys look foxy and orderly in suits, but on the inside, they
are hot messes. But I don’t want you to know. I want you to feel. And our old
friends, those countless literary devices of simile, metaphor, allusion,
figurative language … that’s the way in. It’s not about fancy literary prizes.
It’s not about seeming impenetrable or smart or high fallutin. I’m not trying
to impress anyone. I am trying to make you feel a story, that’s all. I guess
what I’m trying to say is that I don’t believe in the literary/ commercial
divide. And I don’t believe that literary is good or bad. I believe that good
novel makes readers feel, and the more readers I can make feel, the more
successful I will consider that book.   

For another great breakdown of a scene from Scorpio Races, see here.

In the opening chapter of Shannon Hale’s Goose Girl, the aunt who raised Princess Ani prepares to leave, and we see both the aunt’s dissatisfaction and Ani’s impending loneliness through the description:

That year, when the trees burned the fire of late summer into their leaves and the ground mist was a ghost of the river, long and wet and cold, the aunt looked from her window to the walls around her and imagined another winter inside them. She began to see the world as a bird sees bars, and she scratched her arms beneath her sleeves.

The aunt took Ani to the shore of the swan pond where the lazy-armed trees dipped themselves into their own reflections and the aspens’ hard little leaves shook in the wind with a noise like snapping fingers. The aunt pointed north, where few people lived and trees grew thick and prickly green all year, and where the girl could not follow.

“I’m going home,” she said. She kissed Ani’s forehead, but her eyes did not leave the purple horizon.

The carefully chosen descriptions do the emotional work in this passage: the haunting “ghost,” the confining sense of both “bars” and the aunt’s scratching. Even the unfriendly description of the wood–“hard little leaves,” “snapping fingers,” “prickly green”–cue readers into Ani’s emotional state. The final image, of the aunt already focused on a more promising horizon, underscores Ani’s isolation.

4. Sometimes the objective correlative takes the form of a “situation, or chain of events” that allow the reader to experience a particular emotion.

Consider this scene from Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods. He opens by describing a campsite on July 5, 1983 in mundane terms: three adults, a group of kids cook dinner, properly secure their food in a tree, and set up camp for the night.
About midnight, a black bear came prowling around the margins of the camp, spied the bag, and brought it down by climbing one of the trees and breaking a branch. He plundered the food and departed, but an hour later he was back, this time entering the camp itself, drawn by the lingering smell of cooked meat in the campers’ clothes and hair, in their sleeping bags and tent fabric. It was to be a long night for the Canimia party. Three times between midnight and 3:30 a.m. the bear came to camp.
Imagine, if you will, lying in the dark alone in a little tent, nothing but a few microns of trembling nylon between you and the chill night air, listening to a 400-pound bear moving around your campsite. Imagine its quiet grunts and mysterious snufflings, the clatter of upended cookware and sounds of moist gnawings, the pad of its feet and the heaviness of its breath, the singing brush of its haunch along your tent side. Imagine the hot flood of adrenaline, that unwelcome tingling in the back of your arms, at the sudden rough bump of its snout against the foot of your tent, the alarming wild wobble of your frail shell as it roots through the backpack that you left casually propped by the entrance–with, you suddenly recall, a Snickers in the pouch. Bears adore Snickers, you’ve heard.
And then the dull thought–oh, God–that perhaps you brought the Snickers in here with you, that it’s somewhere in here, down by your feet or underneath you or–oh, shit, here it is. Another bump of grunting head against the tent, this time near hour shoulders. More crazy wobble. Then silence, a very long silence, and–wait, shhh . . . yes!–the unutterable relief of realizing the bear has withdrawn to the other side of the camp or shambled back into the woods. I tell you right now, I couldn’t stand it.
So imagine then what it must have been like for poor little David Anderson, aged twelve, when at 3:30 a.m., on the third foray, his tent was abruptly rent with a swipe of claw and the bear, driven to distraction by the rich, unfixable, everywhere aroma of hamburger, bit hard into a flinching limb and dragged him shouting and flailing through the camp and into the woods.
 File:Young black bear (6492409733).jpg
From his description of the situation and the events as they unfold, we experience a very real terror, without him ever having to name it. And though he does refer to some physical sensations, the bulk of the emotion comes from the details he chooses: the events (“mysterious shufflings,” “moist gnawings”) and the objects (“trembling nylon”). Bryson also uses an assortment of rhetorical devices: a string of parallel sentences in the first paragraph building towards a climax; semi-onomatopoeic words to round out the sensory images (“grunt” “snufflings” “clatter”); and the use of dashes to interrupt his interior monologue, reflecting his increasingly fractured thinking as the terror mounts.

 

What are your favorite ways for using emotion? What other examples of the objective correlative can you think of?

Rosalyn Eves
is a part-time writer, part-time English professor, and full-time mother of three. She loves all things BBC, especially costume dramas and mysteries. When not wrangling children (and sometimes when she should be wrangling children), she’s often found reading. Her debut novel, THE BLOOD ROSE REBELLION, is forthcoming Fall 2016 from Knopf. She’s represented by Josh Adams of Adams Literary.

 

Writing with Flow

Today’s post is both a teaching tip and a writing tip.

As a teacher, I often find myself commenting on student papers that something “doesn’t flow.”

As a writer, I also find myself wrestling with flow in my own writing.

And yet, “flow” is one of those infuriatingly vague concepts that can sometimes be hard to teach. But I’ve stumbled across one trick that’s fairly easy to remember and works great to teach students a concrete sense of “flow.”

Here’s the rule:

  • Move from “old” to “new” information.

Now some explanation for the rule. Writer’s have an unspoken contract with their readers to lead them in an understandable direction–part of this means making sure readers get the connection between one idea and another. In other words, readers don’t really expect us to take them over the waterfall with no warning.

To do this, it’s often (especially in more essay-style writing) a good idea to start sentences simply, with information that’s already been raised in the paper (the old information). There’s even some scientific research to back up the fact that readers *expect* familiar information in the “topic position” (the first part of a sentence). At the same time, we’ve been trained to expect new and/or significant information in the “stress position” of a sentence (the end of a sentence). Hence the rule–start with familiar information, then move to new information. (For a great, if more technical summary of how this rule can improve scientific writing, see Judith Swan and George Gopen’s “The Science of Scientific Writing.”)

Look at the following examples, from Joseph Williams’ Style.Which of the two “flows” best? 

  1. Some astonishing questions about the nature of the universe have been raised by scientists studying black holes in space. The collapse of a dead star into a point perhaps no larger than a marble creates a black hole. So much matter compressed into so little volume changes the fabric of space around it in puzzling ways.
  2. Some astonishing questions about the nature of the universe have been raised by scientists studying black holes in space. A black hole is created by the collapse of a dead star into a point perhaps no larger than a marble. So much matter compressed into so little volume changes the fabric of space around it in puzzling ways.

 Most readers will say the second does. And the reason it flows better, is because the second sentence of the second example starts with familiar (old) information–the idea of a black hole raised by the first sentence. In the first example, there’s a sentence length gap between connecting ideas, and readers feel that gap (even if they don’t notice it consciously) as a lack of flow. (When I use this example with students, I also like to point out that the second example uses passive voice to achieve greater flow–in other words, passive voice isn’t always wrong. Like most writing and rhetorical choices, it depends on the situation. If you’re using passive voice for a reason, it’s okay. Then again, this might be a post for another day).


While I wouldn’t claim that this rule has revolutionized my writing or my students’, it has given me a more effective tool for smooth writing. I hope it will do the same for you!