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The purpose of this newsletter is to help the Writing.com short story author hone their craft and improve their skills. Along with that I would like to inform, advocate, and create new, fresh ideas for the short story author. Write to me if you have an idea you would like presented.
This week's Short Story Editor
Leger~ |
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Passive Voice
One of the most difficult edits I find in my work is correcting passive voice. In trying to research passive voice, I came up with a few suggestions.
Passive voice is marked by a form of "to be + past participle". It is not a form of "have" alone "+ to be". You can be fooled by this during your edit process. One way of checking if your sentence is passive is by looking to see if your sentence leaves your reader with a question.
"A new story was written." By whom?
Of course, there are times where a passive voice might be necessary. A writer may use it when they choose to be vague.
"The doctor may have been to blame." Was he?
"The child was scratched by the cat." is better written "The cat scratched the child."
"The budget will be discussed by Fred during the phone call." is better written "Fred will discuss the budget during the phone call."
Here is a fun test: http://web2.uvcs.uvic.ca/elc/studyzone/410/reading/exercises/dogqz.htm
There are exceptions to every rule. Passive voice can be used when the emphasis is on the action.
"My plane was hijacked."
Try reviewing your work with an eye for passive voice. An active voice will make your writing stronger and more concise.
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Excerpt: Gregory shivered as he listened to the storm howling outside his small house. With the poker he pushed the logs closer together in the fire. Then he pulled his chair next to the fireplace and sat down. He loved this old chair; it was worn in just the right places and fit him perfectly. After smoothing the comforter over his lap he saw Humphrey, his old basset. He lifted the edge. “Climb up here, old boy.” The dog scrambled up beside him and Gregory tucked the comforter around him.
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#1289626 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: Drew sat in his corroding sedan staring at the office complex with a pained expression. Characteristically early, he had ten minutes before his appointment. Still, the luxury of having time to spare did little to ease the anxious compulsion to enter the building and check himself in. Working against this irrational pull, was the morbid dread of actually going through with another psychiatric evaluation.
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#1290983 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: Sarge juggled a sandwich in one hand and the television remote and a beer in the other, while sitting on the couch. Predictably, there was spillage of sandwich and beer. Sarge was not a tall man and somewhat overweight, he preferred the term stout. He had never been in military service, but figured if he had, he’d a’been a sergeant at least. Wolf Blitzer wasn’t on yet, so he settled for Katie Couric.
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#1123918 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: The rain exploded on her roof like tiny bombs all going off at once. Sara started as the downpour began. Her head snapped up from her notebook as she approached the window. Gazing out, she let out a sigh and smiled with relief. Finally, some moisture to soften the dirt and help the crops grow.
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#1287806 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: bet Jason Tamill a dollar that he wouldn't spend a whole night in Samael's Grove and he never came back.
I felt bad at first, but I figured in the end that he should've known I didn't really want him to go- that's why I only bet him a dollar. A dollar to spend a night in that evil place is an insult. It's a joke. It's stupid to think that someone would accept such a pitiful amount of money for that kind of undertaking. That buck was basically me pleading him not to go. Maybe he figured he had something to prove. Maybe that's the excuse I've been feeding myself ever since. A moment of childhood that went extremely sour.
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#1288056 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: Far far away on a distant island a beautiful young lady was searching the beach for seashells when something in the water flickered and caught her eye. She walked into the water and retrieved a beautiful antique bottle. She could see that inside the bottle was paper. She opened the bottle and started reading and so the legend begun.
Excerpt: “Damn the infidel!”
He cursed at the splinter stuck to the tip of his index finger as if it was the enemy, but still he heaped the dry wood onto the fire. This wait couldn’t be too bad; plus, what else could he do after making the deal…
Excerpt: Upstream from McCalister Point, some of Tanglewood, Kentucky’s rivals were milling around the river. A faded blue pickup was backed up to the stream at the boat ramp. The rusty tail gate was down and fifty cans of green dye filled the bed along with a couple of empty bottles of Jack Daniels. The three teens standing in the dented bed of the truck were laughing out loud. Two of them had to sit down to keep from falling out of the truck.
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Short Stories: July 18, 2007 Issue [#1837]
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