In conversation, is there anything worse than an awkward silence? Actually, there is. Its silence filled by the tedious ramblings of a bore. The first situation makes you want to kill yourself. The second makes you want to kill someone else.
What is it that makes the drivel spoken by a bore so boring? It lacks all interest, for you anyway and maybe even for the bore. After all, the bore is talking not to say anything but to hear the sound of his or her own voice. But never mind that. What does it mean to lack interest? What makes anything we hear “interesting” anyway?
Let’s be boring. “It’s an unusually fine day.” Okay, that’s tedious but not full on boring. “Yes, the grass is green today.” “Later we may get rain.” “Shall we play golf while we can?” Golf! Now that’s boring. (Oh, you like golf? Sorry, it’s boring.) But seriously, the humdrum exchange we’re developing has nothing unexpected in it.
Now let’s turn that into a conversation on the surface of Mars:
“It’s an unusually fine day.”
“Yes, the grass is green today.”
“Later we may get rain.”
“Shall we play golf while we can?”
The humdrum gets a tad more interesting because on the surface of Mars we do not expect anyone to be discussing fine weather, green grass, rain and golf. There are even implications and undertones to ponder. The grass is green “today”? What does it mean to “get” rain on Mars? Is it manufactured? If so, why isn’t the schedule known? There’s intrigue here. It’s mildly sinister. (Take it from here, Phillip K. Dick.)
Now imagine this conversation in a prison yard, or in Hell. What is humdrum in one context in another context is new, unexpected and raises questions we have not previously considered.
Let’s shift focus from dialogue to the fiction element we sometimes call exposition. Exposition, as the term is used nowadays, is the thoughts and feelings of a point of view character, the stuff that takes us inside a character’s head. Exposition can be some of the most boring stuff on the page. I know that. You know that. We know it because all too often we skim it.
Skimming is sometimes a result of reader impatience, or perhaps a writer being inconsiderate. So anxious are we to know what happens next that we race ahead; conversely, so in love is the writer with unimportant stuff that he or she fails to cut it. (Let’s not forget the carelessness of the editor, either.) If we skim for reasons like that it’s a pacing issue.
But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about what makes exposition actually boring. Inside a character’s head is not always an interesting place to be. It’s tedious when the cognitive/emotional transcript we’re reading offers nothing unexpected, holds no intrigue, states the obvious, raises questions we’ve already asked on our own, or presents feelings we’ve already felt. It’s like reheating leftovers for the fourth time. (Except for lasagna which I, anyway, am always excited to take out of the microwave.)
No one wants to be boring so let’s take a look at why exposition feels fascinating to authors when they write it down but later proves uninteresting to readers.
Exposition often is a mini aftermath. It’s a reaction to something that has just been witnessed or said. That would seem important to record but remember that your readers are ahead of you. Readers think. They feel. They react to everything and do so instantaneously. And, unfortunately, their instant reaction may well be what you’re writing down.
When that happens you’re duplicating. Stating the obvious. You’re being boring.
The antidote is to use exposition to challenge the reader. That requires thinking of stuff the reader hasn’t thought of. It means elaborating feelings that are not immediately obvious. It means exploring implications of a given situation that aren’t easy to see. The idea is to give your reader new cognitive and emotional work to do.
Try these approaches: [Read more…]