On Not Using Filtering Language

Nobody likes to peer through a glass darkly—it’s too hard to see. Why not just look directly at the scene rather than at its reflection, which is pale and distorted? (Unless you’re looking at an eclipse, of course.)

Filter Not

It’s just as hard to get the full impact of an emotional scene in a novel if the author dims everything through a series of filter words. You know what I mean: felt, seemed, heard, saw, and their kin.

Needless to say, there will be times when it’s appropriate to use all of these words—to the careful writer, nothing is forbidden!—but many of them can be jettisoned, and the writing will be the more direct and impactful for it.

Here’s why: They are unnecessaary. If the point-of-view character is clear, we readers know that anything that is described is seen or heard by that person. The whole book is nothing but their perceptions and feelings. Simple, isn’t it?

If you doubt, here are a few examples. See which ones strike you as stronger and more immediate.

1. 1. George felt a huge knot of shame choking him, and he fought to get past it, to say what he needed to say.
   2. A huge knot of shame choked George, and he fought to get past it, to say what he needed to say.

Notice how the first version, which has no actual errors, is nonetheless slightly removed from being inside George’s head. You’re talking about his feelings, not experiencing them along with him.

1. 1. Jane saw that the boy’s face was scraped, blood trickling from his lips and nose, and his knees were black and bloodied.
   2. The boy’s face was scraped, blood trickling from his lips and nose, and his knees were black and bloodied.

Ouch! We, who are inside Jane’s head, don’t need to be told that she sees this sad spectacle. Just like her optic nerves, give us the spectacle itself, with all its impact. Direct.

Dilute Not

Other kinds of qualifiers, while not strictly filters, can similarly weaken the impact of your writing. They are typically meant to attenuate the strength of a statement, but it often works in the wrong way. Check out these examples:

1. 1. “He is, my husband. He’s somewhat suspicious of the sudden turn of events”—she smiled thinly at the king, something resembling a blush seeping up her cheeks—“but he’s not inclined to complain.”
   2. “He is, my husband. He’s somewhat suspicious of the sudden turn of events”—she smiled thinly at the king, a blush seeping up her cheeks—“but he’s not inclined to complain.”

Any degree of red color seeping up a person’s cheeks is called a blush. To undercut that makes it sounds like the author isn’t sure of herself, can’t find the right word. It takes the focus off the character and puts it on the writer!

1. 1. He sniffed a little, bitterly.
   2. He sniffed bitterly.

To this reader, a sniff is a momentary thing by its nature, and a bitter one has a whiff of the hmph about it. No need to use that overworked and usually inaccurate “little.” It’s a big offender in the dilution category.

1. 1. Prince Charming strode across the inner court of the palace in a rather black and reflective mood.
   2. Prince Charming strode across the inner court of the palace in a black and reflective mood.

What is a rather black mood as distinct from a black one? There are no fifty shades of black.

You get the message. Simplicity has a lot going for it. It says what it means. It strikes hard. Once you’re aware of these dodges we unconsciously take in our writing, it’s easy to make the stronger choice.