Dear Cliche,
I know what they say about you. How you’re predictable and tired. That you’re the mark of a lazy writer. That you want every pair of blue eyes to resemble a summer sky, every heart to race like a locomotive. But I also know it’s not your fault. So you like to have characters with manes of hair who discover their husbands are leaving them for their mane-ier secretaries. Who am I to judge?
But I want you to know, I don’t care what the others say. I love you. I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you on Fantasy Island, and I watched you loyally in every After School Special, every Movie of the Week.
They said I’d outgrow you, that once I started writing in earnest that I’d come to see the error of your ways, and yet, I still crave you. Sue me! What’s so wrong with wanting a little predictable love triangle? What’s so awful about two strangers colliding in line at the grocery store only to find out they’re long-lost siblings? Good for them. About time, I say!
What’s so terrible about the familiar, anyway? Maybe sometimes eyes are as blue as a summer sky and maybe hearts do race like locomotives.
So I just wanted to write to say I think it’s entirely unfair the way you’ve been treated. And while I may have to use you sparingly in the future, please know I will always think fondly of you and the times we shared.
And I know in my heart you mean well.
Because there are no bad cliches. Only bad words.
Sincerely,
Erika Marks
Ha! Love this, Erika. Cliches are always trying to elbow themselves into my writing and then the dreaded delete key comes and takes them away.
Thanks, Jenny–habits are hard to break. But you’re right–that’s what the delete key is for.
Fabulous, Erika! This morning I was writing a sentence that went something like, “The furnace was as temperamental as a two year old who (um, er, hmmm) was a two year old.” Still needs some work, I think 😉
I can also be a sucker for the cliche, and since they’ll always be hovering about, might as well embrace them before sending them on their way. Oh, After School Specials…how I miss you…
Don’t you miss those After School Specials, Amanda?? When is Netflix going to start offering them for rentals, I wonder? A box set, anyone?
Erika, I rushed over here in the nick of time to read your post. Putting two and two together I realized, as if a lightbulb had gone on in my head, that I have been guilty as charged of using cliches in my writing. I went as red as a beet and hung my head in shame.
Great post!
Downith–no shame! We are all friends here–raise that head, my dear! The way I see it, ALL stories are cliches in one way or another. Some are just more noticeable. (Or so I tell myself.)
so so so true.
i love the cliche too. give me teen angst. give me unrequited love that finds a way. give me happy happy endings. it’s like a rumor, right? it had to start somewhere and that place is probably true.
(ps…I’m your newest FB fan! also, not to cross blogs, but since i’m already here and not at home: loved your comment on the author photo (another cliche? against a tree? what about the one where the rests her chin on her hands…oooh, or the glasses one, where you’re not actually wearing them but holding them close to your face? love it. and let’s just take a moment to swirl in the fun that is getting a photo for your BOOK JACKET COVER!! yay)
Hi Amy–thank you standing up with me and declaring your cliche love! Oh, and the always popular unrequited love–yes! It’s like renting a certain type of movie when you need a good cry and the darn writers make it all work out in the end. Huh?! If I can’t depend on a certain universe of orderly cliches, I’m lost!
I love the mention of the photo cliches–I hadn’t even thought about the glasses, or the chin in hand. Oh, you’ve got me thinking now–more, more!
Been busy so haven’t been around for a while but loved this post. And I have to say I completely agree — for the most part. One thing I’ve been worrying about in my own novel is that it’s not unique enough. And yet, I know it’s a great story. My BETAs think it’s a great story. So what if it isn’t so different everyone shouts it to the world. It’s different enough.
Hi Shari–so nice to hear from you again! I’m with you–a good story is a good story. I think too often we get wrapped up in “twists”–the unexpected, is it unique enough? Some wheels don’t need re-inventing. Not all, of course. But some. So glad you’re feeling strong about your novel–that’s a great feeling, isn’t it?
Oh my gosh, this post is adorable. I just finished writing about one of my characters and her blue eyes. Cornflower blue! Hearts, hammering! The hero rescues his lady from an attack! Cliches are fine, they’re fun in moderation. And I loved Fantasy Island.
Thanks, Averil–oh, yeah, baby–let’s hear it for cornflower blue! My fella’s got ’em too and he’s keepin’ ’em. I tend to be kind of a traditionalist on the whole color naming thing. (Remember the good old days of catalogs when red was just, oh, RED and not cabernet or garnet or paprika!!!???
Yes! Just a couple of days ago I referred a sunset over the ocean as simply orange and green. It felt amazing to be that simple about it. Note to self …
I love it. I have a friend who critiques my work and every time he sees a cliche, he writes “You can do better than that.” He really pushes me to come up with my own words, but at the same time, there have been portions of my manuscript where cliche works and sometimes is even demanded. It’s all in the execution, I guess.
It’s a fine line, to be sure. I’ll admit I hear the “You can do better than that” in my own head when something reads as a cliche, and certainly it can be changed. Like so many writing “rules” I think it depends on the case, and, as you said, the execution.
Love that. 🙂
Thanks, Teri. I’m still trying to quit ’em. Not sure I can go cold turkey, yet…
Once again, exhibit A of cliched writing is The DaVinci Code and yet, or more to the point, and thus, it sold 80 million copies. The point being people have a preference for standard fundamental cliches, formulas, tropes, tales, and narratives.
Exactly, Dave. People do have a preference and–even if they refuse to admit it sometimes–an expectation for certain cliches.