As the air comes back to me, the light, as we go through the doors to the outside, breaks on us like rain.
Edinburgh, by Alexander Chee
In a recent post to a writer who is concerned about writing mediocre stories until the end of time, and who is losing the desire to write, George Saunders suggested ways to break writing habits. One of those suggestions included, "Yank yourself out of your usual daily routine. Instead, today, off the top of your head, write one sentence."
Part of what we’re doing here is yanking ourselves out of our usual way of writing sentences. OK, maybe not off the top of your head, and maybe it’s a more intentional yanking.
We are stepping out of the cage of assumptions, whether realized or not, about how to write a sentence. Because if we stay in that cage, very little will surprise us and with that, creativity—the fire to write—will wither into a hard nut.
I chose Chee’s sentence because I’ve never written a sentence like this, and maybe you haven’t either. Here, then, is a way to keep the fire going, and it’s done, sentence by new sentence.
Chee creates mild disorientation and suspense with this sentence. The narrator, Warden, has fainted, and the man whom he loves, Mr. Zhe, carries him outside for air. So there is a state of confusion as Warden returns to consciousness, which is mimicked in the syntax. The air returns, the light returns, transforming via a simile into rain.
It’s a left-branching sentence, opening with the dependent clause, “As the air comes back to me,” which creates delay and suspense. What will happen as the air returns? We have to keep reading to find out. It’s a sentence that is precise, with air the first element that’s registered in the narrator’s consciousness.
Then, we come to the subject of the sentence, “light,” and now the sentence becomes mid-branching, with the subject separated from the verb, “breaks.” Inherent to this verb is a metaphor, comparing light to something that can break. Given the context, something is breaking for Warden because Mr. Zhe has touched him, satisfying a long-held desire.
What separates the subject from the verb is another dependent clause, “as we go through the doors to the outside.” This is the next step in the process of becoming conscious—light emerging by moving from the dark inside to the bright outside. Chee creates more rhythm by using anaphora: “as” is the subordinate conjunction for both dependent clauses.
The simile compares light to rain, subtly suggesting a transformation for Warden, and echoing the verb “break.”
Your Turn:
This sentence describes a process, something unfolding in precise steps.
Begin with a dependent clause that includes the first part of the process.
Now comes your subject.
Add another dependent clause, using the same subordinate conjunction. Chee used “as.” This clause describes the next step in the process.
Add your verb and a simile to suggest a transformation.
How did it go?
What else do you see in this sentence?
About Me:
I’ve taught “Style in Fiction,” “Word for Word” and “Cultivating Your Prose” at the University of San Francisco and Stanford Continuing Studies since 2007. I’ve watched my writing and my students’ writing blossom with this practice of paying close attention to the sentence.
Please visit my website to find all of my books: ninaschuyler.com (including “How to Write Stunning Sentences” and “Stunning Sentences: A Creative Writing Journal).
My New Novel:
Afterword is available now! If your book club chooses my book to read, I can Zoom in and talk to the group. I’ve met with many book clubs, and it’s really fun! If you’ve read my novel please consider posting a review on Amazon or Goodreads or social media.
Thank you!
Order links:
bookshop
Amazon
Clash Books
ZYZZYVA Interview
Zyzzyva’s Laura Cogan’s brilliant questions prodded me to think more deeply about my novel, AI, what is a human, the real vs. the virtual world, writing the past, and a lot more. So grateful for her questions and her interest. Here is the link:
Upcoming Class:
I’m excited to teach a class for Zyzzyva on November 4th, 11:00-2:00 PST, on Zoom, “The Past is Always Happening: On Writing about Time.”
Time is a container for every story. Yet too often we focus intently on the event that upended the ordinary world, minimizing or ignoring the past. Writing advice often reinforces this, sometimes turning it into a rule. If this theory of time turns rigid, your story may be stripped of complicated motivations and depth. Characters are, after all, amalgamations of all that has happened to them, all that has been inherited, including the familial, cultural, and historical. Moreover, the past can be as dynamic, lively, and intense as the present. In this class, we’ll look at excerpts from short stories and novels that welcome the past. We’ll consider pieces that dedicate entire sections to the past as well as stories that let the past sprinkle in like breadcrumbs. We’ll examine the effect of these approaches on character and story. Generative writing exercises will let you explore different strategies to usher in the past, improving your understanding of time in narration.
To register:
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While we emerge into the streets the air, while we were young the very engine of our lives, swirls now around us, smoky, orange, and turgid, a despotic dissipating angel.
As the sun warmed their faces, her breathing, as he leaned to hear her, trailed off like the final notes of "Conquest of Paradise."