Don’t Skip the Decor—What Most Writers Lack

The beauty beyond directness

For most writers, a strong message is difficult to declare in the first few lines. In the interest of spiking a reader’s interest, a couple of pretty words that merely serve as decor prelude my pieces; a classic beat-around-the-bush tactic to prep myself for the writing that awaits me. The point can come later, I tell myself.

Admittedly, I feel like a bad writer when I do this. Most of what I wrote I end up discarding, replaced by a more in-your-face cluster of words. I decide that my style is not a result of creativity but rather poor writing, an inability to be clear.

For whatever reason, it is engraved in me that a good writer gets to the point, knows how to be direct and concise, no faff or decor needed. While it may be true, it feels soulless. Bland, even — so far from the feeling of being lost in a novel where hours and sleep are surrendered to the allure of beautiful words, unraveling a tapestry of intricate details, delicately revealed, piece by piece. I recognize this style immediately because I crave it. Most writing lacks it.

Infinite Possibilities

Literary decor doesn’t have to be extravagant. Words are art forms in and of themselves. You & I, the artists. We choose the arrangement, characters, emotions, build-up and intensity of the climax. Through words, we can tell a myriad of different stories.

They say there are a staggering 288 billion possible positions following the fourth move in a game of chess. Countless and complex opportunities exist that surpass human comprehension but they remain quantifiable. Unlike writing — the possibilities cannot be confined by any finite number. There are truly infinite possibilities. Think about that for a second. You, the narrator, have infinite ways to tell your story. Why be stingy and settle too abruptly? Let the words simmer in your mind, long as they take.

How to Say What You Mean Without Telling Me What You Mean

Don’t tell it as it happened, but as it was felt.

“It was a source of both terror and comfort to me then that I often seemed invisible — incompletely and minimally existent, in fact. It seemed to me that I made no impact on the world, and that in exchange I was privileged to watch it unawares.” — Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping

Don’t tell me you feel invisible, make me feel invisible. Readers should feel something when they read your work. Perhaps this doesn’t apply to politics, a tech piece about the latest iPhone or a Financial Times announcement about the state of the economy. No one wants to read a romanticized account of a government bill allocated for disaster relief funds. Where it’s appropriate is where it matters.

To say what you mean without telling your readers what you mean, you must start with emotions. Set the scene, paint the feeling. Let me walk in your shoes for a while; make me curious enough to solve the mystery trapped in your words. Don’t tell it as it happened, but as it was felt.

Intrigue

Do books really have souls?

Decor and intrigue are not one and the same. With decor, we are talking arrangements, play on words, and embellishments. Done correctly, it creates intrigue.

“Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.” ― Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind

A passage like this makes you imagine hands, books with souls, and humans interacting with a book they love — passing it on, like a worthy inheritance. Do books really have souls?

Nuance in language is not only pretty but transformative. It is a vessel that transports a reader from their beach chair to a cold, dark, and lonely existence in the Arctic night.

“He enjoyed the soft sound of night wind and the knowledge that he was the only boy — perhaps the only human being — out there in the dark on the windy, frozen-grass meadows on this night that smelled of coming snow, alienated from the lighted windows and the warm hearths, very aware that he was of the village but not part of it at that moment. It was a thrilling, almost erotic feeling — an illicit discovery of self separated from everyone and everything else in the cold and dark” — Dan Simmons, The Terror

Moral of the Story: Imagery Is More Beautiful Than the Truth

A glamorous truth is simply a dressed-up truth. Yes, the sky is blue, but it also “grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night”, with streaks of gold and crimson melting into a sea of deepening blue, as if the heavens were setting the stage for a masterpiece.

Too fancy? Opt for an alternative display of words, just please, make your readers feel something.

Isra Alaradi is a passionate writer based in Bahrain, a little island in the Middle East.

Don’t Skip the Decor—What Most Writers Lack was originally published in The Writing Cooperative on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.