I still use it, but over the years I’ve gotten tired of the word gaze in both the noun and verb form, and now I’m actively avoiding it. Any writer will tell you that there are a very limited number of synonyms for the noun/verb look, and one of the great minor inconveniences in writing is having to come up with an alternative.
Gaze is a dislikable word for me because we don’t use it that often in modern speech (when was the last time you said, “Hey, gaze over here” or “I don’t like the way you’re gazing at me”?) It also has the letter z in it. Z is an eye magnet letter – it’s so uncommon that (for me, anyway) when it appears on the page in any word it acts like a reading speed bump and disrupts the flow. That’s probably why I avoid using the word zipper whenever possible, too. But I still resort to gaze now and then because sometimes there is no better option.
Gasp is one of those words I see, mainly in romance novels, that annoys me. I’ve used it, unwillingly, but to me it’s really a sound word, not a synonym for said. A gasp in my mental dictionary is that quick, indrawn breath sound you make when you’re startled or shocked, or a fast sigh/exhalation for the same reasons. It’s breathing, basically, not speech. Romance writers seem to love it as a said synonym and pair it with an exclamation of some sort, which makes it emote like a bad actress:
“You can’t do that!” Muffy gasped in outrage.
Buffy gasped, “Oh, my God!”
“But you can’t leave me,” Fluffy gasped out in horror and terror. “Our wedding is tomorrow!”
Groan is another g-word that gets a real workout in most romance novels, especially in sex scenes as a synonym for said. My problem with the word groan is two-fold: I instantly associate groaning with people who are in pain, and on the page it looks a little too much like groin, another g-word I’m not too fond of (but I have no problem with using crotch, so go figure that out.) Like gaze, I use it unwillingly, but I’ve never much liked it. I think I’ve heard too many real groans, all from people in various states of pain, during my years in the medical field. So unless it’s a BDSM scene, every time I use groan or see it in a book it feels inappropriate.
Guffaw is simply an ugly damn word. It looks ugly on the page, and it sounds ugly when you pronounce it. I’ve never used it in a book (I think an editor stuck it in one of my early romances, though.) To me it’s definitely a loud, twerpy-sounding laugh, uttered by someone who when amused brays like a jackass, usually the skinnies, nerdiest kid on a television sitcom. The last thing I’d have a hero do is guffaw – I think I’d make him gasp or gaze first.
Obsessive as writers are with word choices (and yes, I am not unusual in my aversions – most of my colleagues feel the same about other, unsightly-to-them words) not everyone will have the same attitude. I think readers have to be very forgiving about word choices, or they’d end up with nothing to read. Editors on average are more concerned with technical blips like word repeats/echoes and rarely object to a word choice unless it’s completely inappropriate. Whenever I read someone else’s work and run into one of those g-words, I tend to be more tolerant, too (although the gaze thing still bugs the hell out of me, especially when I catch a talented writer overusing it.)
I can guarantee that no matter how explicit I write, I have never used and will never use the word G-spot in any of my novels. I flat-out hate that word. It’s clunky, stupid-looking on the page, and it doesn’t even come close to describing that particular region of the anatomy. It’s a goofy word, too. G-spot, come on. Haven’t we been saddled with enough unsightly or unpleasant-sounding words to describe the most fun parts of our bodies?
There are some words in the English language that are deal-breakers for readers. If you use explicit language in your fiction, for example, be prepared for some e-mails from readers who didn’t like it. I once received a three-page rant from a reader who became seriously upset over a single word in one of my novels (not a g-word, but a c-word.) Evidently employing that word made me (in her view) vulgar, ignorant, anti-feminist, and in general a traitor to the women’s movement. By the time I finished reading that e-mail she almost had me convinced I was going to burn in hell. But you learn early on in this biz that you can’t make everyone happy, and if you try you’ll go crazy or end up writing stories that are as interesting as library paste or cream of wheat.
I do think it’s a little odd that so many of the words I dislike or refuse to use in writing start with the letter G, though (not that I object to the title of our group blog, which I think is perfection — but then, I was the one who thought it up.) Maybe I was traumatized as a child by the Goodyear Blimp or the Good Humor man. I never really liked Green Lantern as a superhero, either. You get your superpowers from something as mundane and easy to lose as a ring? Give me a break . . .
What are some of your g-words? Have you noticed any similarity among the words you don’t like to use? Let us know in comments.
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Mine is an h-word–hiss. For me, if someone is hissing, the words have to have the s-sound when they’re, well, hissed. I also tend to avoid “replied” because if I do use it, it ends up sounding clunky.
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For me, if someone is hissing, the words have to have the s-sound when they’re, well, hissed.
That is one bit of writing wisdom I never realized until after I joined the online writer community — it makes perfect sense, but I just never thought about it, I guess. Another reason to hang out online: you get great tips from other writers.
I also tend to avoid “replied” because if I do use it, it ends up sounding clunky.
I think I employ it after I get tired of repeating said too many times, but it is a bit formal, and I’d rather describe some action and avoid the tag altogether.
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Can’t think of any g-words, but there’s a p-word I can’t stand. I use it, because it’s pretty much required by all my publishers, but I think it’s juvenile and stupid and sounds ridiculous. I much prefer the c-word, which editors object to. Go figure.
There’s a d-word I don’t much like either unless it’s being used to describe a person’s character rather than parts.
When it comes to “said”, I prefer to just stick with “he/she said” from time to time, and otherwise use action tags rather than dialog tags. Or let the dialog stand alone, but too much of that reads like a screenplay instead of a novel.
Words. Glad to know I’m not the only one who obsesses over them.
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I still have a knee-jerk reaction to using standalone dialogue without any character identifier tags. There are some authors who do it beautifully (Harlan Coben is king of this, I think) but it always makes me uncomfortable.
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I struggle with the whole problem with eyes. His eyes followed her across the room. I know that’s not physically possible, but I have yet to find creative ways to express a person watching another person, thus I do resort to the dreaded gaze.
My g-words are the profanities used for female body parts, both southward and northward, especially one particular c-word and p-word. I know there has to be a happy medium between purple prose and street slang, but that often sounds too clinical.
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I know that’s not physically possible, but I have yet to find creative ways to express a person watching another person, thus I do resort to the dreaded gaze.
I’ll admit, I overuse “watched” and “eyed” to avoid the dreaded traveling eyeball thing.
My g-words are the profanities used for female body parts, both southward and northward, especially one particular c-word and p-word. I know there has to be a happy medium between purple prose and street slang, but that often sounds too clinical.
A couple romance writer friends and I have debated this ad nauseum, but while I know it has more offensive potential, I’d rather be clinical than euphemistic. I wish there were more middle of the road words, and I sincerely hope that the next generation of writers try to coin more that aren’t as ludicrous-sounding as some of the classics (I especially despise quim and manroot and want both to be outlawed by Publishing.)
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“Manmeat” is one that just kills me in books. I can’t help but think of Dahmer.
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I’m as guilty as the next for using those words. I also seem to be fond of the word ‘nod’. It’s not a ‘g’ word, but it might as well be in my manuscripts. This particular subject is something I’m working on right now.
I think I will go back to ‘gazing’ at the pages in front of me, instead of nodding in agreement.
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Nodding and shaking heads show up in my stories so often you’d think all my characters were bobbleheads, Jordan. That’s one unfortunate habit I’m trying to eliminate while writing new stuff and also look for during the daily edits.
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I don’t mind gaze because it’s usually a grammar thing – eyes don’t fall, eyes don’t meet across rooms, etc. But overuse is another matter.
My characters grin too much. (G, go figure.) And I have the bobblehead effect, too.
I’m bothered when authors use a wonderful, uncommon word – and then use it again in the next chapter. It shouldn’t. I should be glad they are trying to add to the everyday lexicon. But it just stands out and that throws me out of the book. :/
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I’m bothered when authors use a wonderful, uncommon word – and then use it again in the next chapter.
That was and continues to be my main problem reading certain fantasy and nearly all of the high-brow SF out there. I started calling them the chiaroscuro crowd because they kept marching those pretty words out over and over in a book. One chiaroscuro is lovely. Three in as many chapters makes your book a chiaroscuropet.
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I share your itch about look and gaze. Just about to start an edit, and now I’m sure to obsess even more about them. Thanks.
People nod a lot in my worlds, too, until I go back to stop them doing it. Lovers smile all the time, and male bonders grin at each other. Fiercely – at least in my head, where the adverb assassin can’t reach. My characters’ jaw muscles must ache.
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Smiles in a story are like tribbles. If you have one, you have to have a response to it, and if it’s another smile they sneak off and mate behind the scenes and spread. Before you know it your novel has become the Smiley Face City. I find the same thing happens with scowls.
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I don’t think I’ve had anyone scowl, but that reminds me: people can glare a lot.
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Every time I read “gaze”, I think of wedding days (He gaved lovingly at his new bride) and the firstborn child (they gazed through the nursery window at their miracle)
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That’s a lovely way of thinking about the word. In those situations it seems much more suitable (maybe because of the solemn aspects of both?)