Fashions for Fictional People

 Annamaria on Monday

Perhaps because I am in Italy where it is so important fare la bella figura--that is "to make a good impression,"--I have been thinking a lot about what the characters in a work of fiction wear.  I am editing my own work in progress and critiquing a draft for a friend. Out of doors, I walk around looking at Florentines dressed with style and flair and tourists some of whom look like they are headed for the beach rather than for the Uffizi,  All the while my head is also spinning with the people in those two stories, living in the deep and distant past. They are wearing period clothing, in one case in a very exotic location.

Ordinarily, I think about a couple of things when working when drafting a story.  One is, of course  what the characters are wearing, and also I have to make choices about the best way to describe the clothing. I'll take these subjects in that order.

Who was that masked man?

Dressing a character is one way an author reveals what kind of person the reader is meeting.  And also what activity she may be headed for. To be extreme about it, for instance, a man in a tuxedo is not going out to wash the car.  Well, maybe, if the man is James Bond, and the car is an Aston Martin! The clothes may be fashionable or drab, attractive and fit well or undersized for the protagonist's body. They may hang off the person's emaciated frame or be the best tailored clothing ever seen in a remote place.  

All these things can tell the reader about the characters' physical capabilities, economic status, etc. They can help to inform the reader, to say whether or not the writer wants the reader to trust the character, or worry about her. They can speak of what the character's lot in life is, her personal habits, and also, of course, what the writer wants the reader to think about the wearer of the Rolex watch, what judgments the writer wants the reader to make about the child in rags holding a shotgun.

Along with other clues in the subtext, a reader may conclude that the man whose suit is too tight is overindulgent or too out of shape to be helpful when danger comes.

For historical novelists, clothing gives the reader information about what age the story is set in. Every epoch has its own special style. Many of us of the historical persuasion try to keep readers in the long-ago by embroidering into the text little reminders that the reader is not being taken to a contemporary experience. A woman wearing a cloche hat and a knee-length frock with a fringed hem is going to dance to Charleston, not a quadrille.

And nun wearing a wimple is most likely living in a medieval convent, not riding to Washington for a demonstration with the other Nuns on the Bus.

Sometimes, we writers go looking for clothing to put on our characters. This, like a lot of research became easier with the Internet. These days you can find examples of all kinds of clothing from all places on the earth from any century with the click of a button.  When I was composing City of Silver, I read a chronicle that spoke of what the ladies wore in Potosi in 1650, but I had to rummage through several other books and take trips to the Frick and Metropolitan museums to see paintings of the era to give me an idea of what those wealthy ladies living at 13,500 feet on the Altiplano of Perú might have been wearing.

What intrigues me and challenges me most about dressing characters is how to deftly insert this information in the text. I don't like to do with gratuitous sentences informing the reader of what the person has on. It is tempting to take the other common expedient, and have my character look in the mirror. But when I do that, the words seem clunky to me, and I scold myself that I'm not trying hard enough.

My difficulties here are ameliorated because I write third person, multiple points of view. The most likely way you will find out what my characters are wearing is when another character takes notice of or remarks about the clothing.

Another technique that I find useful in blending in these sorts of details is to have the clothing itself have an effect on the person who is wearing it or to have the environment have an effect on the clothing.  Clothing that binds or itches for instance can be a metaphor for something troubling the protagonist or the villain's wool shirt may irritate him.   Or vice versa. A breeze can lift lift a scarf or a skirt can drag on the stairs is the heroine descends.  Wearing the wrong clothing by mistake can have an effect on the characters confidence, or conversely being perfectly turned out for an event that comes with a threat help the hero blend in and disappear to the crowd.

The options, of course, our endless. And I confess that I know full well that writers who insert paragraphs of fashion descriptions in their work can often be giving the readers exactly what they want. And I understand that my difficulties with finding subtle ways to create those pictures in the readers minds maybe overly precious in the extreme.

I am hoping that my fellow authors here will weigh in on this subject. Not only for the edification of our readers, but also for mine.

Talking to Myself

 Annamaria on Monday

I think my current attempts to master dictation have been aided by the fact that, over the past year, I have developed a habit of talking to myself.  I don't remember who it was, but once in my deep past I spoke to someone who admitted that he talked to himself.  He said, “Why not? I like to talk to an intelligent person, and I like to hear an intelligent person talk.” I don’t share his sentiments. I would rather talk to another human being, and I know for certain that it would be more interesting to me to hear another person's words, instead of just my own.

 

I have however been talking to myself quite a bit of late. I was comforted to learn, from a psychologist on the radio, that this new habit isn't a sign of insanity. It is actually not at all a bad thing to do, especially when one is in pandemic-induced solitary confinement.

 

 

Sometimes, when I am talking to myself, I am actually speaking to a person who is not present, frequently to a person whose presence I sorely miss. I am 92.96% certain that I am not the only human on earth to have developed this habit over the last 14 months.

 

 

I readily admit that I have always talked to myself as a writer, words of encouragement or words of caution. Here are some of the phrases that I have found helpful:

 

When Drafting  

 

I tell myself: “It doesn't have to be good.  It just has to exist.  Then, it can become good.”

 

Having instilled this attitude in myself over a long period of time, I find it helps me keep going when I am second-guessing myself.  Somehow, and don't ask me how, my characters seem to know better than I what the story needs to be. Second-guessing them only gets in the way. Even when I know I am writing drivel, I force myself to keep going.

 

Aside: I just sneezed. The dictation function in Word listened to my sneeze and typed this: “serious.” Should I tell it that I don't have covid, just spring allergies? 

 

To take up where I left off, here’s another thing I tell myself when drafting: “Stop here! Don't finish this sentence.  You are going to have to quit for the day in the next few minutes.  Since you know the rest of this sentence, when you come back you will be able to pick up where you left off and get right back into the story.”  I find this technique almost magical. All I will have to do when I get back to the computer keyboard is read the last paragraph or two, finish that sentence with the words I had in mind, and then I am off and running. 

While Editing 

 

“Less is more.” This is a constant reminder to myself. The advice applies particularly, I think, to historical novelists.  We research and research and then are sorely tempted to dump all those fascinating little tidbits of history into the story. I allow myself to regurgitate them into the first draft, but when editing I force myself to cut them out and toss them away . Alternatively, of course, I can write a blog about them. The thing is that, in the editing stage, I will understand much more clearly what the story needs. Then, I can choose the most telling detail—one that will tell the reader something about where the story is going , or better yet, something about the character and what she is thinking. 

 

VERBS! 

 

Lots of times I find my draft sentences are extraordinarily complex with lots of participial phrases, many of them. When editing, I find every time I have used the verb “to be.” Action verbs are what a really good story needs most. They keep the narrative lively and make moving pictures in the minds of the readers. I take each page circle  all the forms of “to be.” I try to find ways to recast the sentences so that the verbs are active. I allow myself only three “to be” verbs on a page.  This is a tedious task. I have to talk to myself a lot to keep at it.  The words often come to me in the scolding voice of Sister Mary Catharine, my professor of writing and wonderful mentor whose memory I revere,  because she would never stand for less than my very best.

 

Lots of times , when I am writing , particularly when I am editing myself, the voice in my head is hers . But I did make up one admonition for myself.  Here it is: 

 

Every once in a while, write a three-word sentence. 

 

 

By the way: It is impossible for me to find proper illustrations for this discourse. But I think it's probably awfully dull, and I want to liven it up with photos.  The ones here today are pictures of places that I wish I could have visited over the past 14 months. Or—I say with hope in my heart—that I will visit in the next fourteen.