Repetition, repetition and repetition
I've been reading through the 10,000 words or so that I've written
of a new novel (I'm determined that this one will actually get
published and not be another 'if only'), with increasing amazement.
Not because of the brilliance of what I've written (modesty forbids
me to comment) but because I thought I'd caught all the mistakes
on-screen but it seems I hadn't.
As soon as I printed it out and read it on the page, all sorts of things jumped out at me. For instance, I discovered that I have favourite words that I thought I'd been really tough with and evicted but which apparently crept back into my text when I wasn't looking. One of them is 'apparently', and I see that it's just done it again.
Another favourite word is 'then'. Hardly an exciting word. But some of the action I've described reads like an instruction manual. 'She crossed the room, then sat on the sofa.' Clearly (oooh, another favourite has just made its appearance), all the non-fiction I write has had a strange impact on my prose style.
'Horrid' — a word I wasn't even aware of using — cropped up far too many times. Quite amazing.
Words can be horrid little devils, then. Apparently.
As soon as I printed it out and read it on the page, all sorts of things jumped out at me. For instance, I discovered that I have favourite words that I thought I'd been really tough with and evicted but which apparently crept back into my text when I wasn't looking. One of them is 'apparently', and I see that it's just done it again.
Another favourite word is 'then'. Hardly an exciting word. But some of the action I've described reads like an instruction manual. 'She crossed the room, then sat on the sofa.' Clearly (oooh, another favourite has just made its appearance), all the non-fiction I write has had a strange impact on my prose style.
'Horrid' — a word I wasn't even aware of using — cropped up far too many times. Quite amazing.
Words can be horrid little devils, then. Apparently.
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