Adverbs From Hell

I was doing a deep critique for a student in the Creative Writing Magnet at Woodside High School in Newport News, Virginia (hi guys!) when I saw them.

Them. Those things. They mostly come out at night, but sometimes show their evil little faces in broad daylight. Impertinent snots.

I'm talking about adverbs, of course. Those words that end in “ly” and modify verbs. Messily, hungrily, angrily. Those words.

They are not your friends.

And why not, you may ask? At first, they seem kind of ... nice. Like little helpers. You might think that dialogue attribution is a little unclear, needs a little qualification. He didn't just shout “up yours, pal!” It was “up yours, pal!” Bob shouted truculently. He didn't just slam the door when he left the room, did he? Certainly not. He slammed it angrily. June didn't just run from the dark, handsome stranger in the alleyway. She ran fearfully.

“Help!” she said.

No, no.

“Help!” June shrieked pleadingly.

See how quickly that gets old? It's like swallowing a teaspoonful of cinnamon when you really just wanted a sprinkle of it on your toast. You choke; your eyes tear up. Next thing you know you're rolling around on the floor, howling like a kicked dog, drooling uncontrollably, nose dripping snot -

Or is that tear gas I'm thinking of?

While adverbs may not make you spontaneously dribble mucous, they are nonetheless unpleasant surplus ... and 99% unnecessary due to a wonderful phenomenon called context.

Context. This is a great word. All writers should love this word, because it's about what you didn't write. What you didn't have to write. Context means you can take a break, kick off your shoes, drink some lemon iced tea, watch the latest episode of Lost ...

Okay, don't drift off to sleep on me. It's like this: if you build Bob's scene well enough, you won't have to tell readers Bob was truculent. You'll show them with the setup – the situation and circumstances surrounding Bob's comment (did you catch that “show don't tell” reference? Subtle, yes? I didn't just slide it in there. I slid it in there unobtrusively).

If June is running down an alley, being threatened by a dark, handsome stranger, do you really need to tell readers she was fearful?

Nah.

Context. It's just one word that means you have some more words left over for tomorrow's session. And that's a good thing.

Getting rid of all your excess adverbs means you'll have ten pages left over at the end of your manuscript for meaningful, enlightening prose. And that's even better.