Novel Writing-Not What it Seems To Be

As a novelist and a member of several critique lists I found myself having
to come to grips with a word that grates on me. I see it used very often and
am asked why I hate this word so. It’s a simple little word that most people
don’t think warrants such ire. The word is—seems.
What’s wrong with seems? I’m sure you’re squirming in your chair in front
of the computer screen and flipping through several manuscript pages in
search of one of the most common words in the English language to see if you
’ve offended in any way as you type.
Well, nothing exactly. It’s a nice little word. The reason it sets my teeth
on edge to see it, especially in the beginning of a novel is simple. If
something seems to be a certain way, then it isn’t. You have signaled your
reader that you are telling them a story.
Okay, I hear you. You are telling them a story, so what’s the problem? The
problem is, it’s your job as a writer to do your very best not to let the
reader know that. The entire job of a fiction writer is to create something
in their novels. That something is the suspension of disbelief. You have to
create a world for your reader to slip into. A place to escape. A situation
to believe in.
Creating that atmosphere is much harder than it sounds. In today’s world
anyone over the age of eight is cynical. That’s a pretty sad fact, but even
children today know what’s going on and know when the wool is being pulled
over their eyes. Not as well as most adults but it’s there. Even as much as
ten years ago it was easier. Twenty years ago most writers had it made. The
world was a safer, simpler place. Thirty years ago everyone lived in a state
of disbelief so the writer could say seems and every body smiled.
Today’s reader is sophisticated, at least to the point that it’s a job now
to write to make them believe. Words like seems sends a signal, they don’t
always even realize it, but they stop believing and the story stops being
interesting for them. Soon, if the word pops up enough they end up setting
the book down after a chapter and never picking it back up. And if you’ve
used it in your opening paragraph, this is a word you use a lot; it’s just
that way.
So you say, well at least they bought the book, and snicker as you lean back
in your chair with your hands across your chest looking like the proudest
hen in the henhouse. Yes they did, and if that’s all it takes for you,
great. But before you get too comfortable as head hen, remember this… if
that reader puts your book down after the first chapter, or anywhere in the
middle, and never goes back to it… you’ll certainly never sell another.
“Wow!” You say as your chair pops back into the upright position and your
palms start to sweat. “The power of one little word is amazing.”
It really is as simple as the power of the written word. ‘Mightier than the
sword’, it’s been said to be, and it is. It’s the fate of a writer to do
battle with these words on a daily basis and realize the power behind them.
They’re not always what they seem to be.