Writing Light When the World Is Heavy
Author Audrey Burges makes a case for spending time with details when writing light when the world is heavy.
When the world around you is filled with insurmountable crises, writing anything at all can be difficult. And writing something light—something with a little bit of sparkle—can seem impossibly daunting. A sparkle is a detail, and how can you notice details when reality is so dark? When the forest is burning, what possible good can come from focusing on an individual tree?
But if you want to write light, it helps to be an inveterate noticer of details. Details are an escape. They are a gateway to stories you might not otherwise pursue. They invite you to slow your racing steps through your plot, stop for a moment, and look around.
I know what you’re thinking. I don’t have time. I’ve got a big revelation to get to! My character’s late to catch his beloved before she hops on a flight! I get it. There’s always a destination or a larger goal. You have an arc you’re trying to land. Too many details may weigh your story down.
But too few of them, believe me, will make your story even heavier. Details are magical. They are leavening. They bake little pockets of levity into a narrative that might otherwise be too dense.
Writing light is not always the same thing as writing funny, but an old adage from humor writing is applicable here: Be specific. A platypus is more interesting than a “small animal.” A platypus with a bad attitude and a snaggletooth may be better still, unless you’re in the path of that platypus, in which case, what might that mean for your character? A chase? A confrontation? An unexpected side-trip to an emergency veterinarian who dabbles in exotic animal care and is—bonus!—conveniently single and primed for a meet-cute?
A detail may wind up being a diversion, a distraction, or an entire spinoff, but I promise you: If you take the time to notice it, it will very rarely be boring. If you pursue it, you may find a plot point or a character that has been sitting on the sidelines, just waiting for you to put them in the game.
Forgive me for throwing platypi, airports, and sports metaphors into these few paragraphs. I get a little overexcited when it comes to details. They enlarge the world you’re creating and make it much easier for your readers to climb into your story and explore.
Think of the last time you passed a random object on the ground or a couple in the middle of a strange conversation and thought, There’s a story there. This is your chance to tell it. Notice! What is the object, where is it, why did it grab your attention? Who left it, and why? Is the overheard conversation between two people who are holding hands, or are they staying as far from each other as possible? What are they wearing? What did they say? Which one is doing most of the talking?
When I began writing my debut novel, The Minuscule Mansion of Myra Malone, I thought I was writing a romantic comedy. But a few hundred words in, I found myself describing a very small mirror on the wall of a miniature library, and a character who caught the reflection of her own eye—her blue eye—winking back at her. And I knew instantly, as if she whispered in my ear, that she didn’t know how to wink.
Weird, I thought. How did that happen?
The answer became a whole book.
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The scale of a detail may not prove to be that large, but if you really pay attention to the random things that pop into your head and give them a moment to breathe, you will almost always find that they come to life. Then, if you’re anything like me, they will buzz like persistent bees until you write a place for them to occupy.
Sometimes they’re funny: My novel ended up including an iguana with a pink leash and a taxidermied Scottie dog in a box. But it also included a piano that anchored an entire relationship, and a teapot that created a whole character.
Also: Details don’t have to be light in order to lend lightness. Tragic, terrible details bring richness and pathos to a character who might otherwise lack interest. Mundane details can increase the real-world feeling of the one you’re building. And unexpected details—moments that make you wonder what in the world is THAT?—can invest your reader in solving the same mystery.
I collect details the way some people collect stamps or buttons. The Notes app on my phone is full of particular tastes and textures, snippets of strange dialogue I’ve overheard, scents I’ve encountered on walks, and odd facts I’ve found. Sometimes these details inspire a satirical piece or a short story, and sometimes they spark entire novels.
Sometimes they just sit and wait for me to use them. I scroll through them frequently, whenever I need a moment of inspiration or levity. Stumbling across them always brightens my day. And if you weave them into your stories, they’ll brighten your writing, too.
Audrey Burges writes novels, humor, short fiction, and essays in Richmond, Virginia. Her presence is tolerated by her two rambunctious children and very patient husband, all of whom have become practiced at making supportive faces when she shouts, “listen to this sentence!” She is a frequent contributor to numerous humor outlets, including McSweeney’s, and her stories and essays have appeared in Pithead Chapel, Cease, Cows, and lengthy diatribes in the Notes app on her phone. Audrey was born and raised in Arizona by her linguist parents, which is a lot like being raised by wolves, but with better grammar. She moved to Virginia as an adult but still carries mountains and canyons in her heart, and sometimes, when she closes her eyes, she can still smell ponderosa pines in the sun.
