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How do I fatten up my prose?

I have a rough estimate of the page-length of a certain scene. I have read novels, several in fact, so I kinda know how published authors go about with this stuff. So I say to myself, "Kasper," I say, "This scene will be about fifteen pages or so."

But when I write the scene, it only takes up 1½ page.

It's not that I have this super-condensed style. More like I end up with a transcript of the scene I was really supposed to write. I have this sensation that there are words that were supposed to be there. Only, they never make it to the paper.

I guess I could be a little less heavy on the telling. And maybe stuff in some more settings for good measure. But I wonder if there's some overall flaw that I have, which results in this transcript-like writing. Because it happens all the time.
 

Vaporo

Inkling
It's hard to say what the problem is without reading the scene. It could be that it's already exactly as long as is appropriate. Would you mind posting it?

I sometimes get the same sense of "This was supposed to go on longer." Not so often as I used to now that I'm getting some more experience, but I think I know what you're talking about.

I try to go into each scene with a goal in mind. I think "Ok, this is what needs to be accomplished here." However, if I were to write with only the goal in mind, I know I'd just skip over all the interesting bits and proceed straight to the end, like what you seem to be doing. So, when I actually sit down to write I take the goal and just kind of set it in the back of my mind and let the scene progress naturally. Character X says this, well character Y wouldn't like that. But that means character Z will start getting impatient... and so on. Instead, I try to "guide" the scene where I want it to go. I try to think of myself kind of as a mediator when I write these scenes. Subtly influencing the conversation to get it where I need it to be rather than skipping straight to it.

Think of it like this: You want to be a scientist, not an engineer. An engineer will trim away anything not strictly relevant and try to reach the destination as efficiently as possible. A scientist doing an experiment is just there to observe, occasionally applying some gentle pressure to get the result they need.

Don't be too much of a scientist, though. Nobody likes reading a long, dry data sheet.
 
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Thanks, being less focused on the end goal and more focused on what's going on in the story right now sounds like a good mindset. It also reminds me of some advice I saw in some public domain book. I'll see if I can dig it up.

It's sad that I get so annoyed by the "show, don't tell" advice, because I think I have a lot to learn from it. I mean, I think I need to be less distanced, closer to what's going on in my story it right now. But "show, don't tell" in itself sounds like one writing a movie script, methodically describing the visuals.

A scientist doing an experiment is just there to observe, occasionally applying some gentle pressure to get the result they need.
:LOL:

It's hard to say what the problem is without reading the scene. It could be that it's already exactly as long as is appropriate. Would you mind posting it?

Sure thing. Here you are:

As a child, Doniho had healed numerous animals. Mostly smaller creatures, like birds or mice, but also bigger ones. A lot of them died. One time, instead of healing a wolverine, she brought life to whatever creature it had devoured. But some of them survived. More so, as her skills grew. She had been good hearted back then, but also frightfully naive. She didn’t ponder on why exactly her father accidently came across so much wounded wildlife.

One night, her father had woken her. He had softly but insistently ordered her to dress, quickly. She had followed him through the dark woods. Finally they reached a clearing, where a big warrior stood guard next to a lifeless body. It was a boy, several years older than she. He was gravely wounded. Doniho wondered why there weren’t a grownup healing him up, like she did with animals. With a sinking feeling she realized that he must be too far gone for that. But why had her father taken her to see this poor, dying boy?

“Heal him,” ordered her father, his voice suggesting that she should have started already.

It felt wrong. If the boy died, would she be blamed? But she wasn’t given a choice. Carefully, she reached in, with numb horror feeling the extent of the boy’s injuries. The boy stirred, and the slight movement brought fresh pain. He screamed. Instinctively, Doniho took away his consciousness; he felt back like dead.

“Is he—” someone whispered. Doniho made an irritated gesture; she was busy. The boy's heart stopped. Three times. Each time, she felt like she had failed. But slowly, his body reached a state where it would be able to, in time, heal up naturally. And, in time, it did, except for that queer mark, a bulging, iredescent scar running all the way from his chest to his right thigh.

The boy was carried to their home, where he took over her bed. Instead, she was given an older bed which was too small for her, but which she liked; it felt like she was hiding inside a small cavern.

The boy failed to wake up. For a while, she spent a lot of time watching over him. She tried healing up his scar; it simply did not react, and the resistance made her curious. After a few days, she grew bored with him. In some part of her mind, she noticed that now that she was supposed to look after the boy, her father no longer found little animals in need of healing. She understood that healing the little animals had not been a goodhearted gesture. It had been training. Also, she understood that the healing thing was something special, a skill only she possessed.

One day, her father led her into the boys room; he had woken up.

“This is now your brother,” announced father, “His name is Wariho.”

The boy, still in bed but conscious, stared at her.

“I’m a healer,” declared Doniho, “and I saved your life so you’re honorbound to do whatever I want!”

“No.” said father simply.

Doniho took a few steps back. She looked at father sullenly.

“He’s my little brother, then. I came first.” She pleaded.

This, too, was denied, and she said something which earned her a beating. Out of spite, she didn’t heal herself. But despite popular belief, it hurt herself the most, not father.

She had saved Wariho’s life. And she never let him forget that. Yet, despite her insistence on eternal gratitude, and his growing annoyance with it, the fact remained. She had saved Wariho’s life. This marked his attitude towards her. Even though she was a younger sibling, she was treated with something resembling respect.

He had nicknamed her Little Rabbit Savior, which ended up being shortened to Lil’ Rabbit, or simply Rabbit. This was a bittersweet memory, tainted by her knowledge that any rabbits she saved had been intentionally burned, beaten or broken by her father to provide her with training material. Still, to Wariho, she had been Little Rabbit Savior. It was a part of their siblinghood, and it warmed her heart.

But today, as they were reunited on this trip, he no longer called her that. This felt right too; the nickname carried their past relation, had marked her as just his baby sister. She had grown out of it.

Wariho had grown, too. Doniho was aware that her step brother was very attractive. He would have no trouble finding a mate. Whoever he chose would merely put up obligatory resistance. The girl would see his great scar for the first time, and ask how he had got it. Doniho herself didn’t know. Wariho didn’t remember, or so he said.
 
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A. E. Lowan

Forum Mom
Leadership
You're right. You're doing a lot of telling here, which is okay. Telling is in your writing toolbox and it has its uses. But it sounds like you'd like to show more than tell, and your instinct is right. As a storyteller that usually works best for your reader.

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Your characters have at least five senses. First thing I recommend to flesh out a scene is to employ them. What are they smelling? Touching? Hearing? What does their magic feel like? Does it hurt to cast? Feel good? What does it look like from both inside and out?

Another way to strengthen your prose is to cut down on the adverbs. There is nothing wrong with them, they're also tools in your toolbox. But, that being said there are usually stronger words you can use, strong verbs, that you can use instead and I think you'll be happier with the results.
 

skip.knox

toujours gai, archie
Moderator
Yeah, I call it walking my characters through. I just grab them by the hand. Go here, sit there, say this, and boom! end scene. It's how my first drafts tend to go. I give myself two bits of advice (I'm as good as Alice at taking my own advice).

One, slow down. I get into a mindset where I'm afraid if I don't get the whole scene down today, like right now, it's going to slip away from me. Even that overstates the rationality. It's more just a feeling of urgency, of plummeting down the roller coaster. I have to slow down. Chew the words.

Two, be in the scene. By slowing down, I can put myself in that moment, inside that character's mind and heart, or at least at their shoulder. Look around. What do I see? How do I feel? I do that for every character in the scene, even if they don't have a line. Fairly quickly, though, I start thinking of what a character might say, how they would say it, when they would say it.

To put it another way, the right way is to go through the scene like I'm not just watching a live play, I'm actually on stage experiencing it. The other way, also called the Wrong way, is like someone telling me about the play after it's over. The story gets told both ways, but the one way is enthralling while the other just makes me think about going for coffee.

Case in point.
>One night, her father had woken her. He had softly but insistently ordered her to dress, quickly.
Two sentences. You're not in the moment so neither is your reader. She's sleeping, maybe dreaming. Does the father wake her gently or does he burst into the room? She has to get dressed. Why, she wonders. What's going on? She asks him. Does he answer or is he evasive? What is the look on his face? How does she dress? Warmly? As if for a hike in the woods? Or just put on a robe and slippers? And, most importantly, what does she think about all this? Is she worried? Excited? Trusting? Wool-headed? Does she know she's supposed to heal someone? Almost every other breath holds a mystery here, and these two sentences don't do justice. The characters deserve their moment.

Slow down. Be inside the scene.
 

Vaporo

Inkling
So, I think this scene would be mostly OK in its current state as an introduction to a story or a time lapse. However, I don't think that's what you're going for here. You seem to have some important character development going on that you want to go into detail.

Time lapses are something that I personally struggle with, specifically transitioning to and from the time lapse. The trick that most authors seem to use is to mention something the characters do regularly during the time lapse, and then go into a specific instance in detail to show how this instance is important.

Modifying your story as an example:

In some part of her mind, she noticed that now that she was supposed to look after the boy, her father no longer found little animals in need of healing. She asked her father about it one time.

"Father, you haven't brought me any animals to cure in a few days. What's wrong? Have the wolves stopped attacking our chickens and sheep?"

Her father, who had been walking out the door to run some errand, looked at her in annoyance.

"I've been busy. Haven't found any."

"Then I'm going to go look for some!"

She jumped up and rushed for the door, but her father sidestepped to block her path.

"No, Doniho. You're going to stay here and take care of our guest."

.
.
.


And so on.

I know you don't like the advice "Show, don't tell," but... You need to show, not tell.

For example:

The boy failed to wake up. For a while, she spent a lot of time watching over him. She tried healing up his scar; it simply did not react, and the resistance made her curious.

Instead of just saying "She tried to heal the scar, but couldn't." you could write out the scene where she tries to heal his scar.

Doniho traced her patient's scar with her fingernail, whispering incantations to herself as she did. Perhaps if she tried to... She focused for a second and sent a carefully targeted wave of healing into his body. However, when she opened her eyes the scar was still there. She sat back and folded her arms in in frustration. This was ridiculous. Her healing had never left a scar before. Would Father punish her for failing like this? But she had tried every trick she knew...

Do you get the idea?

Another piece of advice I'd give is not to target a particular word or page count for any part of the story. That's a good way to end up rushing or bloating things.

Also, consider changing the name "Wariho." Maybe I've been on the internet for too long, but all I could think of after reading that was Wario.
 
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It reads more like a summary or outline of a story then like the story itself. That could be fine. It would make a decent introduction to the story, bit like a prologue, though then I guess it could be left out and shared in bits and pieces throughout the rest of the story.

This bit for example reads like it can be turned into a complete chapter instead of 5 paragraphs.
One night, her father had woken her. He had softly but insistently ordered her to dress, quickly. She had followed him through the dark woods. Finally they reached a clearing, where a big warrior stood guard next to a lifeless body. It was a boy, several years older than she. He was gravely wounded. Doniho wondered why there weren’t a grownup healing him up, like she did with animals. With a sinking feeling she realized that he must be too far gone for that. But why had her father taken her to see this poor, dying boy?

“Heal him,” ordered her father, his voice suggesting that she should have started already.

It felt wrong. If the boy died, would she be blamed? But she wasn’t given a choice. Carefully, she reached in, with numb horror feeling the extent of the boy’s injuries. The boy stirred, and the slight movement brought fresh pain. He screamed. Instinctively, Doniho took away his consciousness; he felt back like dead.

“Is he—” someone whispered. Doniho made an irritated gesture; she was busy. The boy's heart stopped. Three times. Each time, she felt like she had failed. But slowly, his body reached a state where it would be able to, in time, heal up naturally. And, in time, it did, except for that queer mark, a bulging, iredescent scar running all the way from his chest to his right thigh.

The boy was carried to their home, where he took over her bed. Instead, she was given an older bed which was too small for her, but which she liked; it felt like she was hiding inside a small cavern.
I'm not completely sure what the best process is to fix it, since my way of writing is different. But I would suggest taking this part and try turning it into a complete chapter. Tell it from the head of Doniho and tell it in detail. No big sweeping statements, don't summarize things and make the characters actually say something. So don't write "her father woke her and told her to dress." Rather go for something like:
"Someone shook her. She opened her eyes. It was still full dark. A lantern showed her father bend over her. He had a hurried look on his face. 'What's wrong?' Daniho asked.
'Get dressed,' her father said. 'Hurry. No questions, there isn't time.'
Daniho jumped out of bed, full of worry. The flagstone floor was cold and numbed her feet. She grabbed the first piece of clothing she could find, yesterdays dress, and threw it over her head."

Do this for each sentence you wrote. I want to know exactly what the character is doing, why she is doing it, what she is thinking and feeling. And I want to know it as specific as possible, down to the color of the scar and the softness of the rabbits her father brought her.
 
I'm not completely sure what the best process is to fix it, since my way of writing is different.
As I was writing yesterday I thought back to this comment and realized that if I tilt my head sideways a bit and squint just right then part of my process is sort of similar to this.

For my current novel, I started with an outline. This is a list of all the scene's I'm planning, including who the viewpoint character for that scene probably is. I finish a complete outline before I start writing. It's about 2 lines per scene on average. For the latest scene I wrote, I have this:
They manage to lift the siege. They arrive at the sight of the battle as the outer walls go down and the Ochloroc force streams in. With the aid of the Manhir, they manage to take out the siege equipment and they drive off the Ochloroc force, who believe they are under attack by a much bigger force.
When I get to a particular scene I then write a synopsis for that scene. A few paragraphs of what is happening in that scene, with some details and maybe some dialogue or thoughts that jump out at me as I'm working through what's happening in the scene. This helps me structure what's going on and takes the thinking out of the writing a bit (if that makes sense). For the scene I mentioned above, this gives:
They find from a scout report that Mantus is already surrounded by the Ochloroc. They make a plan: The largest part of their force will attack the artillery and the rear of the Ochloroc army once the Ochloroc make their move on Mantus. Reason: the relief force is not big enough to overcome the army by itself. But someone needs to warn the people in Mantus so they don't attack the manhir and will be ready to also attack when the Manhir attack, based on some signal (how about a fire, like Finn made in an earlier chapter?).

Finn, Henge and a couple of people sneak in using the back entrance to the Uncut Gem. They have to get through the Ochloroc lines. They find the way blocked, but using magic, a manhir (Henge?) can collapse the rubble (though breaking is hard) and make an entrance. They go in. They decide not to sneak in, but instead make straight for the keep. They are intercepted by an army squadron since people believe the manhir to be evil. They make their way to the keep. Finn argues to listen to them, what other reason then trying to help could he have. The Ochloroc don't need his help, just look at Uneltemus. This convinces Ragnur, but not Grundar. The council sides with Ragnur (who is rehabilitated as promise to Kelsa) in the end.

The Ochloroc attack, people make a token defence and fall back. When the manhir strike and give the signal, Finn leads a sortie and attacks the Ochloroc. When the Manhir join in the Ochloroc are routed. They hadn't counted on this kind of surprise.
Once I have this, I start writing the actual scene. I dive into a characters head and flesh out the details and write what's going on. That first paragraph for instance turned into 777 words and is now the first part of this chapter (which I'm not posting since it will probably distract, but if anyone wants I can of course). Going then by what I've already written and the parts I still have to write I expect this chapter to end up around 3.000 to 4.000 words.

Now, to bring it back to fattening out your prose. I think what you have written is step 2 in how I write. Yes, it's better written (mine is just notes to myself and not intended for other people). But it might help to view it as a sort of outline and (re)write the chapters from there.
 
I have the same problem. its so frustrating to tell what seems like a huge amount of plot in basically nothing. Though its still a struggle, i have found that whenever i rewrite a scene, i have something to add, like how they looked at the tree, what it reminded them of, and random plot extensions like bathroom breaks (very necessary). as i keep adding more and more, i find that it greatly adds quality to my work, as well as realism.
 
Some good advice already here. Skip's advice in particular, I second. Always put yourself inside the scene. Give all the players roles so they are equal parts of the drama. Write the dialogue they would actually speak if they were real people with their own desires, fears and prejudices.

If in doubt, focus on the sensory information. No need to go mad, that gets boring, but a few brush strokes here and there - a few splashes of colour and a whiff of pine needles - before you know it you've got real characters speaking real dialogue dealing with real problems in a real place.

You'll probably have to cut it back after that.
 
Thanks for the help. It is immersively helpful! As a side effect, I noticed that there were a lot of basic details in my story which I simply didn’t know, like what exactly her father was like. But conveniently, I never got close enough to my story for this to be a problem. I think there was some clever dude who said something like that you should only skip information in your story if you know that information yourself.

Besides the advice already given, I think some of the reason for my distanced writing is that, deep down, I’m a bit afraid. Going into the raw incidents in the story feels a bit intimate. So it’s nicer and safer to paint the scenes with broader strokes, so I don't have to get too close. This might be why I prefer 3rd person too.

Check out my brush-stroke metaphor above. I don’t have the same resistance as I have when the same idea is presented as “show, don’t tell”. The brush stroke metaphor just feels right for me. Like this piece by Frazetta. Notice how certain elements are rendered with extreme detail, while others, like the ground and surrounding landscape, have those broad, sweeping strokes. The details hold up the image, giving it solidity.

I think I’ll try composing my prose a bit, being conscious of when and where I go for broad strokes (telling). Like in this chapter ending, where the story go straight to time-lapse in the last sentence. The composition just works.

”Murder in the Dark by Kerry Greenwood” said:
‘Don’t they teach you any religion at that school of yours?’ demanded Dot. ‘When Herod heard that the child Jesus had been born, he sent his men out to find him, but they failed. And the Magi, who had promised to come back and tell him where the baby was, they were warned by an angel and went away. So, to make sure that he killed the baby Jesus, the cruel King Herod—’

‘Oh, yes. Ordered the soldiers to kill all the children,’ said Ruth. ‘I forgot it because it’s so awful. What sort of king makes his soldiers kill children?’

‘Almost any sort,’ said Jane. She was a student of history.

‘Well, they shouldn’t,’ declared Ruth. ‘It’s unfair.’

Dot shrugged and went on with the story. ‘ “Take the mother and child and flee into Egypt,” said the angel.’

‘Why did they have to take a flea?’ asked Ruth.

Jane giggled, and therefore got no chocolate once the misunderstanding was sorted out.
 
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