Part of me believes this subject is too broad to cover in a single blog post, and that's probably true, but in the hopes of exemplifying that which I aim to discuss, let us cast off and see what harbors await.
Anyone who's ever read bad fanfiction knows that there's something uniquely off in some authors' writing that leaves the reader feeling deeply unsatisfied, despite all points of the narrative being clear and delivered.
The phrases seem to stop short; the taste of it feels dry, like a highly caffeinated fanboy anxious to reach the story's end (which, for most fanfiction, is precisely what we have at play). All the information is there, but you're no happier having had it than you were before. The flavor is missing.
That flavor comes in many forms, from the brusque to the infinitely intricate, but the same element is present no matter how long the storyteller chews the proverbial scenery: there's a subtlety of expression that allows the author to give the reader some idea of what is unfolding without hedging in their imagination.
Just like with music, as much lies in what's not being said as it does in the notes themselves, and the silence is far more difficult to sculpt. That silence is the difference between an awkward writer too rushed to get the ideas out of his head and a storyteller painting a scene with patience and care.
Subtlety gives the reader's imagination room to expand beyond the confines of your words. It entices them into taking a scene and filling in the dark or boring corners with whatever phantoms and dreams their mind can concoct. If you get too caught up in specifics, you leave them with no breathing room.
Don't think of a scene like a blueprint: your audience doesn't always need exactitude. Sometimes the significance or feeling of a thing is far more important than the specifics. It has the added bonus of allowing your reader to map said thing to their particular cultural lens.
Enough of the theory, down to specifics. Seems like a contradiction, no?
First, the base example:
"Charlotte's hands began to bend and point in the air in front of her, shaping the spell she had practiced years ago under her mother's careful teachings. Her right hand turned palm-upwards as her left hand cut a wide arc out to her side, hovering directly over the line of salt on the floor at her feet."
Not horrible, and you have to be a few fathoms past horrible to reach "unpublishable." So why fix what isn't broken? Observe:
"Charlotte's hands began to work the pattern of the spell, each gesture flowing into the next with a graceful rhythm. She could still remember the gentle touch of her mother's hands on her wrists as they guided her through the motions of the now-familiar spell, waltzing across the tiny dance floor outlined by the ring of salt at her feet."
What changed? All the information is still there and not much else. We removed the exact framing of the motion of her hands and replaced it instead with the symbol of a dance, one which in turn lends a powerful touch to the notion of her mother's teaching.
Now the memory isn't of a young witch learning a spell from a master, it's of a mother dancing with her daughter. In the instance, we have added for the reader a whole host of possibilities. A little subtle implication leaves an open piece for the reader to fill in.
Consider that Charlotte's mother may not feature in the work at all save in memory and passing mention. The reader now has free reign to picture the matron witch guiding her child in the old ways and the many humorous, frightening or touching moments which no doubt came part-and-parcel with such a unique and at once familiar childhood upbringing.
In addition, leaving the ritual described only in general terms gives your audience power to envision Charlotte's particular brand of magic without their own preferential context.
There are shamanic roots throughout the world that offer mystical and arcane elements in more flavors than might fit within any one person's reckoning. The reader can apply their own template to the motions, thus shifting Charlotte's own culture and background to fit what they find more appealing or more approachable.
Even minor clues can risk ruling out or locking in a particular option. The line of salt, for instance, has many very fixed connotations. While arguably appropriate to the setting if Charlotte is "that kind of witch," a note of "protections" around the room or in a circle at her feet might leave more room for alternatives.
Consider how the scene changes if Charlotte is surrounded by trinkets from her mother's family and the long line of witches before her, meant to link to the spirits of a long lineage. A reader from a difficult culture may be looking for entirely different signs than what you might expect. Providing the meaning of a thing as its description (see "protections") leaves them room to find a familiar connection.
There is an additional advantage to replacing detail with painted implications: in brevity lies speed; speed creates momentum; momentum creates emotion. In short, some scenes are best to hurry through.
Like the motion of Charlotte's hands, use vague, flowing reference and comparative analogy to avoid drowning in the minutia of the moment. Focus on the important details, "zoom out" for the rest.
It can be best to lead with detail to set up a finite pattern and then fade to a more implied series of actions before returning to detail at pivot points and key moments within the scene. Your audience will fill in the missing pieces on their own. Don't feel like you have to draw them a map of every scene.
"The two warriors battled across the ridgetop until they clinched on the edge of the cliff, locked in a struggle to see who if not gravity would win the day."
That's easily three or four pages between the start of the conflict and its first or final pivot point, whittled down to a single sentence.
Unless you know you are writing to those who crave detail and technicality (military fiction or hard sci-fi), don't be afraid to skip to the complicated bits and leave the rest as one quick, flowing brush stroke across your overall canvas. The meat of the novel is important, but it's always the spice that makes it memorable.
Which brings us to at least three separate metaphors for writing within this post alone. I should start calling this place "Analogy Central..."
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