Ten Rons Don’t Make a Wright

Time to post about writing again. Get back in that semiprofessional mode.

One of my beefs as both a reader and editor is the repeated use of names in a book.

Ron clinked his beer mug against Wright’s as they sat at the bar, watching the baseball game. Then, they sipped and returned to grumbling about the uneventful game. Socializing with Wright like this was the last thing Ron had expected, given they worked together but weren’t really friends. But Ron hadn’t wanted to spend another evening alone and Wright’s company so far, had been okay. Ron wouldn’t let Wright know this, though. Ron couldn’t give Wright a chance to see, or use, his vulnerability.

“Man, this guy’s a loser,” Wright muttered, nodding at the pitcher.  “Doncha think, Ron?”

Ron nodded at Wright.  “Totally agree.”

Wright motioned Ron and Wright’s mugs.  “Another round?”

Ron replied, “Sounds good, Wright.”

Readers retain a lot. They don’t need to be told that Ron said this and Ron did that, and Ron was fine, and then Ron was mad and Ron raced out of the condo, and Ron … you get it. Nothing shows amateurism more than throwing in [the same] names 20+ times on one page. 

Vary it.  This might sound/read better (and let’s tighten/embellish a bit while we’re at it) . . .

Ron clinked his frosty beer mug against Wright’s as they sat at the busy bar, watching the baseball game. They sipped and returned to grumbling about the uneventful event. Socializing with Wright was the last thing he’d expected, given they’d worked together for years but weren’t really friends. But he hadn’t wanted to spend another evening alone and his coworker’s company so far had proven just fine. He’d never let Wright know this, though. Why give the egocentric guy a chance to see, or use, his vulnerability?

“Man, this guy’s a loser,” Wright muttered, nodding at the pitcher.  “Doncha think?”

Ron nodded.  “Totally agree.”

He motioned their half-filled mugs.  “Another round?”

“Sounds good.”

Repeating names too often—and that also applies to actions, phrases, and statements—lends itself to flatness. I don’t know about you, but I get pretty bored pretty quickly if a writer feels compelled to tell me who did and said what with every sentence.

It all relates to proofing and editing. It’s obvious with the many manuscripts that come across this dining-room table (a dislocated shoulder makes working at a desk more difficult), that this isn’t being done. That’s a shame. One really should take pride in one’s work—and that means being [more] diligent and less ego-driven.  No matter how good/talented one thinks they are, there is always room for improvement.

Solid [superlative] writing comes with practice, and learning, and listening.  Period.