Improve clarity a thousandfold with characters whose bodies move inside the space of your story. The issue is a lot subtler—and more common—than you might think.
Have you ever read a story and found it difficult to place yourself inside of it—to picture it, sense its shape, its mood, its place in the world? While a shaky sense of place is quite often attributed to just that—a lack of setting—the culprit is often a more tangible one: the character's body is missing!
To be clear, this issue is not one of Character so much as one of Physical Bodies. So many early-draft stories lack bodies that the problem has been given an informal name; you'll often hear readers lamenting a story's lack of "Bodies in Space."
So many early-draft stories lack bodies that
the problem has been given an informal name:
"Bodies in Space"
Consider the following:
TAMMY WATCHED Mr. Nilsen at sunset, as she often did on Friday nights. The Starbucks on Beverly Drive was his favorite place. He ordered his usual—a half-caff grande almond-milk Macchiato with a double-shot of espresso—and sat reading Rilke while he waited. The book was weathered, having apparently lived through the wars, but it looked so comfortable in his hands, as though it had been printed only for him. A sudden whiff of dark roast filled the air, and Tammy breathed it in with closed eyes. She continued to watch Mr. Nilsen from her hiding place until the pretty barista called out his order: Mr. Nelson! Tammy fought the urge to correct her. She slouched out of sight in order to avoid detection as Mr. Nilsen—the long-held object of her affections—got up and retrieved his coffee.
On the surface, this passage is perfectly serviceable. We have a protagonist with a desire, a sense of time, and even a sense of place. But the bodies—of Mr. Nilsen, and to a greater extent, Tammy—are floating in the space of the story. Sure, we understand implicitly that the scene is taking place at the Starbucks on Beverly Drive, but their placement inside that Starbucks is murky.
This scene is deceptively difficult to write, because the author is attempting to describe two micro-areas (Tammy's hiding place behind the ferns and Mr. Nilsen's spot near the wall), and a third, less prominent area (the pickup counter), all in the context of a larger setting (the Starbucks on Beverly Drive). Although we get detailed descriptions in spots (the book, the pretty barista), these descriptions feel arbitrary because neither they, nor the main characters, are contextualized in the space of the coffee house.
Now, consider this edit:
AS SHE OFTEN DID on Friday nights, Tammy followed Mr. Nilsen to his favorite place, the Starbucks on Beverly Drive. She sat at a two-top, well-hidden behind a pony wall topped by a planter of fake ferns, spying on him as he ordered his usual: a half-caff grande almond-milk Macchiato with a double-shot of espresso. After ordering, he sat at a street-view table and opened up a book by Rilke, preparing for the wait. The book's pages were weathered, having apparently lived through the wars, but it looked so comfortable in his hands, as though it had been printed only for him. Behind the wall, Tammy closed her eyes briefly to breathe the whiff of dark roast wafting over from the coffee station. Soon, the pretty barista called out his order from the counter: Mr. Nelson! Tammy fought the urge to correct her. She slouched down in her seat until her head was fully obscured by the ferns, as Mr. Nilsen—the long-held object of her affections—stood and ambled toward the pickup area where his coffee sat steaming.
Because this is a fairly complex scene from a spatial perspective, even the edit above will need further revision for concision and clarity. However, the author's second version does address the biggest problem facing the passage: floating bodies. With the simple addition of a few physical cues, the reader will be better situated—and more invested in—the scene.
Note that when the "camera" moves from Tammy to Mr. Nilsen to the action behind the Starbucks counter, we need to guide the reader in that direction. Without this stage direction ("back behind the wall," "at the counter," "ambled toward the pickup area"), the action is jarring, and the reader will subconsciously wonder how she got from here to there. More simply put, she won't believe the scene.
Note some additional tweaks ensure the bodily movement synchronizes with the passage of time. For example, in the edited version, Mr. Nilsen sits at a table and opens a book as he prepares to wait, instead of sitting and reading while he waits. The latter option moves too quickly, with no sense of where, exactly, he is sitting, nor how long he sits and waits. The phrase "sat reading Rilke while he waited" is economical, but it's vague both from a spatial and temporal standpoint. The temporally precise act of ordering coffee and sitting, just moments before, is incongruous with his next action, which is a general "state of waiting." Similarly, in the edited version, Mr. Nilsen ambles towards the pickup area where his coffee sat steaming, as opposed to getting up and retrieving his coffee. Clarity issues related to space and time often go hand-in-hand.
Clarity issues related to space and time often go hand-in-hand.
A lack of Bodies in Space is one of the most common and fundamental issues in early drafts. It is also a criticism that writers often resist, perhaps because added spatial language might appear to confuse, rather than clarify, a piece of ostensibly clean prose. Or perhaps writers refuse the feedback because it seems so glib. Either way, ignore this note at your own peril: readers need to know where the bodies are in order to believe your characters truly exist in the world of your story.
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