Writing and How it Compares to My Underpants

I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Not to worry, I’m fine. A cold, fussy dogs, moving my parents, and a busy brain. Two nights ago I found myself arguing to myself in Italian. This was in my dreams. I was criticizing my Italian grammar. I was right, it needed correcting. But, sheesh, this was 3 am and I was supposedly asleep. Those of you who know me, are used to my early rising—still Italian grammar before dawn was more than I needed.

Last night it happened again. Good thing my husband is traveling, for this would be more than he should have to endure. I had a full blog written (in my sleep) on how my underpants relate to my writing. The sad part is that I remembered it all when I woke up. What does that mean? Maybe I need help. I’ll let you decide. Okay, are you ready? Remember, this is middle-of-the-night stuff.

I have many types of underpants. In the infinite wisdom that comes from goodness knows where, I realized each style of panties I have was a metaphor for my writing. Folks, I’m repeating myself here—this was the middle of the night.

First, there are those in my drawer that are the ones only your mother would wear. You know, the up to the belly-button and totally cover the tush kind. The kind you’d show up in at the ER and not be embarrassed. My husband calls them “busters.” Well, some of my writing covers too much territory. Too much back-story, too much detail, too much explanation—well, too much cover. This is a safe and comfortable zone, both in writing and in heading out into the world. But not appealing.

Then there are the ones that are a little high on the hips, but okay if the kids walk in on you unexpectedly. A bit more enticing. A little more leg with the behind still covered. Yet, you know there is something there but still can’t see it all. In writing this begins to be the “show not tell” bit. Show the leg and the reader begins to know there is more that’s going to happen. Lead the reader through our words to wonder…hmmm, what else? How can we make our words pull the reader in quickly? Yet, there still is full rear cover.

Then, well, I do confess, there are the thongs. I never thought I’d wear a thong. I am of the age where a piece of fabric smaller than my dish towel never seemed to be a garment. One day my younger daughter was offering an opinion on my outfit. Great pants. I love them and they do tend to snug a bit, in a good way. But, she was quick to point out the panty-lines. No way, I was told. You never show panty-lines—remember that as free advice. She handed me a pair of thongs. “Gotta change, Mom.” Well, the pants did look a lot better. I’m still not sure I am comfortable knowing that little separated me from my slacks. But, truthfully, she was right.

It got me thinking. The more I strip my language and get really to the story, the better it reads. The pace picks up; I am clearer. The structure that supports the story disappears to the reader, yet stays there to provide the substance needed. Hopefully the narrator (me) becomes transparent. Sorry about the mixed metaphors, but you get the idea. Get rid of the back story (more bad puns), get rid of the distractions, get rid of our crutches.

I have a tendency to think through the details (plotter, remember?) and want to make sure I get it right. Now I am learning to get it right and then take it away. Peel away the details, clean up the lines, make my reader want to know more by just showing enough leg that the eyes glance upward and the fingers turn the page.

Don’t I sound virtuous? Hardly. Now back to my own editing—adding more thongs and less big-girl panties.