Write Like Melted Butter

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

Back in the day (and for you kids, when an author of my vintage uses “back in the day” that’s a bit further than when The Big Bang Theory was a hit) there was a TV commercial for Thomas’ English Muffins. A narrator extolled the benefits of said breadstuff, then a smiling kid held one up and said, “And lots of nooks and crannies to hold the melted butter!”

I salute the ad man who came up with this line, because back in that same day the federal gummint guidelines had butter on its dietary hit list. Bosh, thought the ad man. That smooth, warm taste of liquified gold coating the taste buds is the most enjoyable part of this culinary treat.

Which is how I think about style in fiction. When the prose has nooks and crannies of “unobtrusive poetry” (as the great John D. MacDonald put it) my reading pleasure buds pop with delight and I am likely to search out more offerings from that writer.

Which brings me to the subject of metaphors and similes. They are the melted butter of prose.

For example, Raymond Chandler would have been just another detective fiction scribbler were it not for the magic of his style. Here are a few of my favorites:

It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window. (Farewell, My Lovely)  

I lit a cigarette. It tasted like a plumber’s handkerchief. (Farewell, My Lovely)

She lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theatre curtain. (The Big Sleep)

Here are some from other authors:

All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances. (Shakespeare, As You Like It)

“Sit down, Montag. Watch. Delicately, like the petals of a flower. Light the first page, light the second page. Each becomes a black butterfly. Beautiful, eh?” (Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451)

She faced the children’s mother, a young woman in slacks, whose face was as broad and innocent as a cabbage and was tied around with a green head-kerchief that had two points on the top like a rabbit’s ears. (Flannery O’Connor, “A Good Man is Hard to Find”)

She was the third beer. Not the first one, which the throat receives with almost tearful gratitude; nor the second, that confirms and extends the pleasure of the first. But the third, the one you drink because it’s there, because it can’t hurt, and because what difference does it make? (Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon)

I shall now lay down the rule (yes, I said it) for metaphors and similes: they must be in the words that the viewpoint character would actually say or think. If they are not, it is no longer unobtrusive. It’ll stick out like a garlic breath burp at a dinner party. (Hey, not bad.)

There is only one exception to this rule, and that is if the voice of the author is the selling point, the raison d’etre of the book’s allure. Old-school Omniscient POV (e.g., Dickens) had it. So did the post-realist novels of the 60s and 70s (e.g., Vonnegut, Pynchon). Almost always it is found in comic novels, e.g., Douglas Adams, and most abundantly in the writing of the late Tom Robbins. You read his books for the flights of literary fancy, the voice of mushroom-laced, hippie-dipped, Zen-flavored farce:

Every toilet bowl gurgled like an Italian tenor with a mouthful of Lavoris, and the refrigerators made noises at night like buffalo grazing. (Jitterbug Perfume)

Like a neon fox tongue lapping up the powdered bones of space chickens, the Rising Sun licked away at the light snow that had fallen during the night. (Skinny Legs and All)

It was as if the dishwater, as gray and oily as a mobster’s haircut, washed away his arrogant confusion. (Skinny Legs and All)

So how can you find your own melted butter? Wide reading of authors who do this well is, of course, a given. In addition, I offer a couple of writing exercises to expand your style muscle. Note, this means you do the heavy lifting in your own brain; it can’t be handed to you by a machine. It’s fun, costs nothing, and will improve all of your writing.

People Pegging

Go to a public place—a park, a coffeehouse, a mall—and people watch. Home in on someone for a few seconds, then write in your notebook the following:

  1. He walks like a __________
  2. If he were an animal, he’d be a ____________
  3. His mood is the color of a ___________

Detail Digging

Wherever you are, pick a random item within your sight—pen, cough drop, lip balm, glasses, book, cup. Then:

  1. Write five things this item reminds you of.
  2. How would an advanced-race alien describe this item?
  3. Imagine this item appearing in your novel. From your Lead character’s POV, write three metaphors—one based on sight, one on touch, and one on smell.

Spend just an hour doing one or both of these exercises and you will actually feel your style improving.

Which is so worth it. Raymond Chandler would have told you that. This observation was found in one of his notebooks after his death:

“Without magic, there is no art. Without art, there is no idealism. Without idealism, there is no integrity. Without integrity, there is nothing but production.”

Don’t just produce. Monkeys can do that. AI is doing it now. Who cares?

Bring a little magic to your prose.

Write like melted butter.

Do you think about style when you write and/or edit? Do you search out fresh metaphors and similes? Do you love it when a writer is able to pull off “unobtrusive poetry”?

28 thoughts on “Write Like Melted Butter”

  1. “It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window.” I remember when you first shared that line and agree, very memorable line.

    “I lit a cigarette. It tasted like a plumber’s handkerchief.” – I don’t recall if you’ve shared this one before but I certainly can’t help wondering how he knows what a handkerchief tastes like…. 😎

    Thanks for the writing exercise suggestions. I’ll give those a try. Style is not something I consciously think about when writing and it takes time to develop. That’s more of a revision and editing process for me.

    • Exercises like I suggest are like golf drills. You do them for practice, then when you actually go out an play (write) you let ‘er rip. Then edit.

      “Write like you’re in love. Edit like you’re in charge”

  2. I have the unique – or more likely rare – upbringing and day-job that allowed and allows me to be in people-watching situations as part of what I do:
    • Raised on the airline and flying standby meant many hours of sitting in airports and checking out the crowds shuffling or sprinting between the gates and concourses… something I still do even though these days I have a “confirmed” seat…
    • The day job is with a healthcare system, and I find myself in the hospital halls or stooging around waiting to meet with contractors or colleagues, similarly people-watching (or at least noticing)…

    And conferences/seminars offer other opportunities (when networking allows).

    I’ve mentioned Richard Brautigan here a time or two – he had a similar Robbins/Vonnegut way with metaphor that I first noticed in middle school:
    “Clouds have been playing with the blue style of the sky all day long, moving their heavy, black wardrobes in, but so far nothing much rain has happened.”
    …and despite enjoying Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, that line woke me up to looking beyond the cliche metaphor, let alone to seeking out Vonnegut, Robbins, Pynchon, et al.

    In any event, I’ll take the “assignment” to work with me… and take the extra credit as a bonus to the paycheck…

    • You have such great opportunites to people watch! That’s why I used to hang out in Times Square in my acting days.

      I was also a Brautigan reader. He, as they said back then, “blew my mind.” I was in high school, and he was so far out there it inspired me to write outside the box from time to time, and that has helped my own style, IMO.

  3. Jim, thanks for sharing those fabulous exercises! People-watching at an airport is one of my favorite activities. I hadn’t thought of using specific questions to nail characteristics.

    Love the detail digging exercise, esp how an alien might perceive unknown items. What would they think of masses of humans, necks bent forward, mesmerized by a shiny little object clutched in their hands? Is it a source of invisible nourishment ingested through their madly tapping thumbs? A control mechanism that forces the head down to prevent seeing what’s around them? Like blinders on a horse?

    But, Jim, you’re cruel to make my mouth water when there are no Thomases in the house ;).

  4. Thanks, Jim, for rekindling the writing flame that outshines AI. Our DNA demands we create, buttering the nooks and crannies of our prose with tasty metaphors and similes.

    • I love to hear that, Grant. We all need rekindling from time to time. When I do, I like to re-read some of the style masters, usually I’ll pick a Chandler or a J D MacD.

  5. Stephen King has my favorite word poetry. Kindle let’s you see what fellow readers enjoyed and the more highlighted messages the better the story.

  6. The redhead was a flash of lightening when she entered the dark bar. But when l took a closer look I could see the hard as ice blue eyes were as cold as a bird’s butt in a white out snow storm. Still, she made my heart thump like the upright bass in a jazz band.
    Or something like that.

    • Ha. Reminds me of my favorite winner from the Bulwer-Lyton bad writing contest:

      With a curvaceous figure that Venus would have envied, a tanned, unblemished oval face framed with lustrous thick brown hair, deep azure-blue eyes fringed with long black lashes, perfect teeth that vied for competition, and a small straight nose, Marilee had a beauty that defied description.

  7. I’m torn here. Maybe because I find so many metaphors intrusive, slowing down my read when I want to get to the STORY.
    My biggest take home is that these descriptions have to come from the character, and my characters are all very simple, down-to-earth people who I can’t imagine waxing poetic about anything.
    The few times I use what I think are good descriptive metaphors, my crit partners and my editor usually nix them.
    Your exercises sound promising. At least I’m a good people watcher, although my reclusive nature gets in the way. However, travel gives me opportunities, and when I’m not getting fodder for setting, I do get character fodder. We’ll see what I come up with on my next trip.

    • A metaphor for a “simple” character doesn’t have to “wax poetic” to be effective. Just ask what picture would come to mind for such a character, in their own words. We all experience triggers like that (you might remind crit partners and editors!)

      • I guess it’s hard for me because I don’t “see” pictures other than exactly what’s in front of me. When it’s windy, I see the pine branches “dancing” or “waving”, but that’s as far as it goes in my head.

  8. I have two “hats” on when I read–the reader lost in the story and the writer who loves getting lost in the use of words in beautiful and unusual ways. I know it’s considered bad when writing takes the reader out of the story, but I love it when an author turns a beautiful phrase and I’ll stop and savor it. As a poetry lover, I seek the lyrical in prose stories. One that comes to mind is The Overstory by Richard Powers (he breaks all the rules, and I love him for it). At the opposite end of the spectrum in terms of commercialism are Kristin Hannah’s Nightingale, The Women, and The Great Alone (one of my all-time favorite books). Since I write in 3 very different genres I have to exercise a tremendous amount of restraint in one (Amish romances) while having more leeway in romantic suspense and a lot more in women’s fiction, depending on the characters. Thanks for the exercises & the topic, Jim.

  9. I’m in awe of writers like Chandler, Bradbury and Morrison who use evocative metaphors and similes in their fictions. This weekend I took a two-evening online novel workshop (an update to the two week one I took years ago), and the point was made near the end that every writer has a weakness, something to acknowledge and work on improving.

    Style, particularly metaphor and similes, is mine. Even in the six novels I’ve written in first-person, I don’t tend to use them.

    Your two exercises will help me tackle that weakness.

    • That’s a great reminder, Dale. I’ve always contended there are seven critical success factors of fiction, and if you were to take each one and systematically study it for several weeks, even improving 10% in each, you’ll realize a huge Improvement overall in your craft.

  10. Ah, english muffins. An egg’s best friend.

    I love metaphors and similes. IMHO Raymond Chandler was the best. One of my favorites is “From 30 feet away she looked like a lot of class. From 10 feet away she looked like something made to be seen from 30 feet away.”

    I like the exercises you suggested. It’ll be a great game to play the next time Frank and I go for a walk at a local park. Lots of material to work with.

  11. I live in a condo on Hollywood beach, Jim, with tourists from around the world, and the country. Plenty of opportunities to practice your exercises.

    • Perfect, John! Foghorn Leghorn is a brilliant example.

      Most people don’t know he was based on a character from Fred Allen’s old radio show, featuring Allen’s Alley, a location with lots of odd ducks. One of these characters was Senator Claghorn, who spoke just like Foghorn does, and who constantly interrupts Fred’s interview of him. I remember one line, where Fred is talking and Sen. Claghorn interrupts him: “Your tongue is wagging like a blind dog’s tail in a meat market!”

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