Go Away, You’re Boring Me

By D.L. Winchester.

An essential talent for anyone who wants to succeed as a writer is learning to capture their reader’s attention.

In this endeavor, boring writing will not do.

Boring may seem a harsh description, especially when describing someone else’s writing, but it’s often true. I decide to reject a lot of stories not because of technical flaws or other errors, but simply because they bored me as a reader. Sometimes I don’t even make it past the first couple of pages.

I know if I’m bored reading something, the average reader is likely to be bored too.

Boring writing is an occupational hazard, and a mistake I've made as well.

Please don’t ask to see an example.

It’s also something most writers grow out of through practice. As someone who’s been writing almost fifteen years, I’ve been bored enough by my and others' work to be able to catch my own boring writing and either edit it out or not write it in the first place.

So what makes boring writing, and how do you fix it?

1. Descriptions That Don’t Advance The Plot
Perhaps the most important rule of avoiding boring writing can be summed up as follows:

Keep the damn story moving forward.

But, in some cases, writers will bring the story to a screeching halt to describe something.

In these cases, I want to take the writer by the throat and yell, “You are not Victor Hugo and this is not Les Miserables.” (Author’s note: I have never managed to finish Les Miserables).

So what do I mean by a description that doesn’t advance the plot? Something like this:

The castle was the tallest building in the valley, made taller because it was on a hill. At the bottom of the hill, a moat full of alligators and poisonous snakes guarded the approach. Gray rock walls repelled enemy projectiles, and guards in pink uniforms walked along the paraphets, mocking any enemy who dared to approach with French accents.

What we have here is a paragraph that’s full of information, but one that doesn’t move the plot forward.

Try this instead:

Randolph was the first to see the enemy approaching.

From his perch atop the highest tower, he could see far down the valley, to the mass of red-clad troops marching toward the castle.

Splashing distracted him, and he looked down and realized another peasant had fallen in the moat. The alligators were on him in a moment, and screaming joined the splashing.

Randolph hoped the gators were hungry—there were a lot of enemy soldiers coming.

“What do you see?” Prince Ashley asked, joining Randolph on the tower.

Randolph pointed at the red mass, which seemed even larger as it approached.

Ashley nodded, the pink fringe on his helmet bouncing as he did. “Cheeky bastards. Don’t worry, though. They haven’t made a cannon these walls can’t stop.”

He patted the paraphet as he said it, and Randolph felt better. The three-foot-thick piece of rock seemed stronger than anything the enemy could throw at it.

So what’s the difference here? I’ve used more words to convey similar information, but the story is moving. We see the enemy coming, we know the prince is concerned, but confident, and we know hungry alligators are waiting.

The story is moving, and the same information is sprinkled through the text instead of bunched together in a paragraph or two.

2. Monologues
Think about the times in your life you’ve just sat and listened to someone talk. Sermons, school, political speeches, etc…

What do all these things have in common?

If you said they’re boring, good job!

(Apologies to our resident professor, the great, beautiful, and never boring Rebecca Cuthbert.)

It’s the same way in writing. Long blocks of text where someone is just talking are usually boring.

They also make it unlikely your reader will absorb all the information you’re trying to give them.

The mayor stepped to the podium. “By order of the council, effective immediately, a curfew of three o’clock p.m. is established. Anyone caught outside after then will be given a swift kick in the ass by the town patrol and returned to their dwelling.
In addition, wearing the color orange is hereby outlawed. If you are caught wearing orange, you will be forced to change into the Speedo of Shame. The council decided this punishment is appropriate due to the significance of the crime in question.
Questions may be addressed to the council’s public affairs officer, who has received extensive training on how to deal with angry civilians. Anyone who misbehaves may be forced to wear the Speedo of Shame.
Thank you.

So how do you avoid a monologue?

Break it up. Insert some action and some other voices into the scene.

The mayor stepped to the podium. “By order of the council, we have established a curfew of three o’clock p.m.”

His audience jumped to their feet. “That’s horse hockey!” someone yelled. Others started to boo as the mayor held up a hand, hoping for silence.

“This is for your safety!” he said into the microphone.

“Forget safety! You just want power!” a voice in the crowd yelled.

“That’s not true!”

The mayor’s amplified voice echoed around the room, and bought him a temporary silence. Taking advantage, he continued. “Anyone caught out after the curfew will receive a swift kick in the ass and be escorted back to their dwelling.”

Murmurs broke out again. He looked at the door. If he had to run for it, it’d be close.

“Furthermore, wearing the color orange is hereby outlawed. Anyone caught wearing orange will be forced to wear the Speedo of Shame…”

A shoe flew by his head. The mayor turned to watch it hit the wall, and the second of the pair hit him in the back. He turned, red faced.

“Who threw that?”

No one moved.

“Look, you ungrateful shits, the council is trying to protect you, and this is the thanks we get?”

“Aw, shut up,” someone in the back yelled.

Another shoe flew, missing, but the mayor decided he’d done enough. Turning, he ran for the door.

He was right. It was close.

He’d have probably made it if the flying boot hadn’t knocked him to the floor.

Now yes, I’m sure you’re going to say, “Well, I read a monologue in my favorite book ever and I wasn’t bored." To which I’ll smile and nod agreement. There are exceptions to every rule. But they should be rare. If everyone is monologuing, it loses its power when someone needs to monologue for emotional or dramatic effect.

I like to quote painter Pablo Picasso:

Learn the rules like a pro so you can break them like an artist.

When you understand why rules are there, and make a practice of following them, choosing to break them gives your story power and panache.

It marks you as an artist.

Alright, those are the two big ones. Let’s continue with some things that don’t need a ton of explanation:

3. Setting the Scene.
Unless you are writing a play, there is no need to set the scene.

This is a close cousin to excessive description, and the same solution should apply:

Work your details into the story instead of stopping to reveal details.


4. Excessive Foreshadowing
If you notice you’re focusing too much on creating foreshadowing, you should probably delete it.

Good foreshadowing should almost escape unnoticed, with the reader often only noting it in hindsight ("Oh! That gun was sitting on a table in the first chapter!"). It should also be rare enough to be significant when you do choose to use it.

If every other paragraph tells me what the next paragraph is going to be about, I’m going to get bored in a hurry.

5. Poor Dialogue.
If your dialogue is nothing but what your characters said, maybe with a “he said” or “she said” thrown in, it will get old fast.

I’ve got another post about using dialogue tags, with character action, that goes into more detail on this, but the moral of the story is simple:

This ain’t radio: In real life, people are animated when they speak.

This post doesn’t include every possible cause of boring writing. If it did, we’d be here all day, and also be bored as hell. But it’s a good start to help bring your writing to life and make it more interesting.

And if your writing is still boring, well, there’s always the Speedo of Shame…