Reading, 'Riting, and Ramblings

I recently acquired a new writing pet peeve: stage directions.

In theatre, stage directions are those italicized instructions that tell actors where to stand, who to look at, and how to deliver lines. Here's a short excerpt from Arthur Miller's The Crucible.

PUTNAM: Don't you understand it, sir? There is a murdering witch among us, bound to keep herself in the dark. PARRIS turns to BETTY, a frantic terror rising in him. Let your names make of it what they will, you cannot blink it more.

PARRIS, to ABIGAIL: Then you were conjuring spirits last night.

ABIGAIL, whispering: Not I, sir—Tituba and Ruth.

PARRIS turns now, with new fear, and goes to BETTY, looks down at her, and then, gazing off: Oh, Abigail, what proper payment for my charity! Now I am undone.

These instructions are useful in scripts, because plays are meant to be acted out and watched, not read. But in novels, stage directions fall flatter than a week-old glass of Mountain Dew.

"Don't you understand it, sir?" Putnam demanded. "There is a murdering witch among us, bound to keep herself in the dark. Let your names make of it what they will, you cannot blink it more."

Parris glanced at Betty, a frantic terror rising in him. He said to Abigail, "Then you were conjuring spirits last night?"

Abigail whispered, "Not I, sir—Tituba and Ruth."

Parris turned back to Betty with new fear. He went to her and looked down at her. He gazed off into the distance. "Oh, Abigail, what proper payment for my charity! Now I am undone."

The last paragraph is especially underwhelming. Turning, moving, looking...these things work on the stage and in film, but not in books. In books, stage directions are boring and hard to follow, and they distract from more important information. For example, here's a paragraph I might write during the first draft of a scene.

As Daniel closed the register and wiped down the counter, he heard the bell on the door jingle. He turned and saw Sarah strut in, dressed to the nines in a sequined evening gown.

I'm trying to think from Daniel's perspective, so naturally I describe what he does, what he sees, etc. But in this context, the fact that Daniel hears the bell and sees Sarah enter isn't important. The fact that the bell jingles and Sarah enters is important.

Daniel closed the register and wiped down the counter. The bell on the door jingled. Sarah strutted in, dressed to the nines in a sequined evening gown.

This revision is much cleaner. Because readers are also thinking from Daniel's perspective, they'll hear the bell and see Sarah along with him. I don't need to state that he's turning here or looking there.

On rare occasions, a character turning here or looking there could be important. A character looking down at her shoes could show shame or shyness. A character moving towards another character in an affectionate or threatening way could show the state of their relationship.

But most of the time, stage directions show nothing, and disposing of them will improve readability.

A writer may have a detailed mental map of every scene, but readers don't. They don't know or care which rooms are between the door and the kitchen, or how the hero is oriented in relation to the furniture.

Think about how people tell stories in real life. Nobody would ever say, "I stopped by Payless Shoes today, and after I walked through the automated doors I headed right, past the sandals on display. When I reached the wall, I saw the cutest pair of panda slippers." They'd instead say, "I stopped by Payless Shoes today, and when I went in I saw the cutest pair of panda slippers." And nobody listening would say, "Hey, wait, exactly how did you get from the entrance to the panda slippers? Because I know the slippers are all the way over on the right wall."

Yet many writers write as if they're afraid readers will complain that Todd appears to have teleported from the front door to the kitchen, or academics will scrutinize the text and argue that Todd couldn't possibly have spoken to Brittany because their lockers are on opposite sides of the hallway. I assure you, neither of these nightmare scenarios will ever come true, so you're free to delete those stage directions with cheerful abandon.

If you remove all the stage directions from a scene and there's little left, you were probably thinking like a playwright. You were trying to convey what the characters think and feel through exaggerated physical actions alone. But novelists don't have to do that. We have the magic of interiority: direct access to characters' thoughts and feelings.

"Don't you understand it, sir?" Putnam demanded. "There is a murdering witch among us, bound to keep herself in the dark. Let your names make of it what they will, you cannot blink it more."

Reverend Parris fought against a rising tide of fear. He remembered Abigail and Betty dancing around the bonfire, and the wild Negro woman gibbering in tongues. If his niece and daughter were really practicing witchcraft...If the parishioners found out...

Abigail stood beside him now with her hands folded demurely, her face as sweet as the first blossoms of spring. The little viper, slithering in and poisoning his hard-earned reputation. Parris grabbed her shoulders. "Then you were conjuring spirits last night?"

When she didn't deny it immediately, Parris battled fresh waves of dread. She was supposed to get angry. She was supposed to protest her innocence, and cry that she would never do such a thing. Why didn't she? Why didn't she?

Abigail pulled at her fingers. "Not I, sir—Tituba and Ruth."

Terror drowned all reason. Parris rushed to Betty's bedside and willed her awake. She must wake up. She must. But no matter how hard he willed it, she lay as still as a porcelain doll. Witchcraft, in his own house! Right under his own nose! How his enemies would crow when they heard. He was ruined. Ruined!

Reverend Parris lifted his face to Heaven and prayed for his salvation. He cursed his foolish niece, and he cursed himself for trusting her. "Oh, Abigail, what proper payment for my charity! Now I am undone!"

This could be done much better, but it was a good exercise for examining the differences between scripts and novels. In novels, most of the action is internal. You can't create tension by moving characters about like chess pieces on a board. You need to get inside the characters' heads, and then pull readers in there with you.

To be honest, rewriting that bit of The Crucible above without any turning or glancing was difficult for me. Writing an entire book without a single superfluous movement would be impossible. Sometimes you just need someone to look at someone else.

But if your characters are constantly spinning like tops, turning here, whirling there, you should evaluate whether those movements are really necessary.