Loading Up a Sentence

The search for variety in prose leads us down alleyways that tend to follow the way we think. I will start by offering up myself as an example of a writer that trends toward complexity in sentence structure. I see this same quality in many authors untrammeled by any literary principles but the ones they have devised for themselves. In other words, writing intricate sentences is not necessarily a contrivance. It just may be the way the thread spools out.

In past posts I have stressed the need to simplify when the occasion warrants, such as an action sequence.  The opposite problem, however, can afflict an author more sparing with his prose. Hemingway is emulated often without realizing how hard he worked at crafting simple prose. What I tend to see are sentences that feature a bunch of action all attached by commas. The most pedestrian variety runs like this: “He came to his car, opened the door, got in, took out his key and inserted it.” You may laugh at how mundane this is, how superfluous all those pieces are. The entire sentence isn’t needed. 

I see this pattern elaborated upon, however, by more intelligent authors. A sentence commonly starts with a participial phrase (“-ing), then a main sentence stem made exact by adjectives, along with a prepositional phrase that leads another clause. Such as: “Without knowing what to do next, she decided that she should not do a thing, with the thought that perhaps the wrinkle would be ironed out with time.” Grammatically, it hangs together. Idiomatically, it has a nice feel. But is the expenditure of 27 words worth the contents of the sentence? The upshot is, she decided to hang tight. No plot movement was created. Nor any character furthered, unless the point is that the character is wishy-washy. I personally feel my attention dimming over the course of the sentence, because all that ado about nothing makes the sentence sag.

How you write doesn’t matter. What you load into a sentence does. The trap for a writer talented enough to write from inside a character’s head is that stringing together a fine web of words does not substitute for depth of penetration. If the passage consists of nothing but mental nattering, the reader’s involvement with the narrative recedes—because the substance doesn’t merit closer attention. 

I would rather read a series of short, precise sentences that firmly carry the story forward, whether in action or in thought. That way is harder, because now every phrase has to count. So before you spin out your next flowing sentence, feeling your way forward for the right nuances, you might want to ask yourself: what is the sentence accomplishing for the reader?

Exercise: A good way to tell whether the constituent pieces of a sentence have any value is to break up the sentence. Imagine each phrase is a separate sentence. If you have three clauses, as in the example given above, you’ll see more easily how little is getting done if you have to read it through in three separate sentences. Start by giving each clause more impact and then put them back together.

 “A healthy male adult bore consumes each year one and a half times his own weight in other people's patience.” —John Updike

Copyright @ 2025, John Paine