Common Style Mistakes That Weaken Prose

Gary Smailes | 12 December 2025

What Weak Prose Looks Like (and How to Spot It)

Weak prose doesn't announce itself with flashing lights. It creeps in quietly, making your readers work harder than they should. They skim instead of savor. They reread sentences that should sing on first pass. They put your book down without knowing why it felt like trudging through mud.

The good news? Weak prose has tells. Learn to spot them, and you'll catch problems before they reach your readers.

The hallmarks of prose that struggles

Vagueness tops the list. Weak prose says "things happened" instead of showing what happened. It relies on abstract concepts instead of concrete details. Compare these:

Vague: "The situation was difficult for everyone involved."

Specific: "Three department heads sat silent while the CEO's coffee grew cold."

Flabby phrasing comes next. Weak prose uses five words where two will do. It qualifies everything. It hedges and circles instead of landing on solid ground.

Flabby: "It seems to me that there might be some possibility of rain today."

Tight: "Rain threatens."

Monotonous rhythm kills momentum. Weak prose strings together sentences of similar length and structure. Subject-verb-object. Subject-verb-object. Your reader's brain goes to sleep.

Monotonous: "The dog ran across the yard. The dog chased the ball. The dog brought the ball back."

Varied: "The dog shot across the yard, chased the ball into the roses, and trotted back with his prize."

Needless complexity obscures meaning. Weak prose buries simple ideas in academic language. It uses passive voice to hide responsibility. It stuffs clauses between subjects and verbs until readers lose track of who did what.

Complex: "It was determined by the committee that the proposal which had been submitted by the marketing department should be considered for implementation."

Clear: "The committee approved the marketing proposal."

Quick diagnostics that reveal problems

Your voice is your best diagnostic tool. Read your work aloud. Not silently. Out loud, with your actual voice.

If you run out of breath mid-sentence, the sentence is too long or poorly punctuated. If you trip over phrases, they're probably awkward on the page too. If you find yourself emphasizing words that don't deserve emphasis, the sentence structure needs work.

Try this test: Read three paragraphs to an imaginary audience. Would they stay awake? Would they understand on first hearing? If you wouldn't want to listen to your own prose, neither will your readers.

Watch for these vocal warning signs:

• Gasping for air during long sentences
• Stumbling over word order
• Monotone delivery despite emotional content
• Feeling the urge to explain what you just read

Baseline metrics that measure clarity

Numbers don't tell the whole story, but they reveal patterns. Run a representative sample through readability tools.

Readability score: Aim for 6th to 8th grade level for most audiences. Higher scores don't make you look smarter. They make readers work harder.

Average sentence length: Shoot for 15-20 words. Shorter feels choppy. Longer tests attention spans. Mix it up, but watch the average.

Adverb density: Count -ly adverbs per 100 words. More than five signals weak verbs hiding behind modifiers.

Try these free tools:

• Hemingway Editor: Highlights complex sentences, passive voice, and adverb overuse
• ProWritingAid: Tracks dozens of metrics and patterns
• Microsoft Word: Built-in readability stats under Review > Spelling & Grammar

Sample analysis of weak prose:

• 28 words per sentence (too long)
• Grade 12 reading level (too complex)
• 8 adverbs per 100 words (too many)
• 40% passive voice (way too much)

Don't chase perfect scores. Use the numbers to spot trouble areas, then fix them with your ear and judgment.

Reader feedback that pinpoints weak spots

Beta readers notice different things than you do. They see the forest while you're trimming individual trees. Ask them to mark specific trouble spots.

The magic question: "Where did you skim or have to reread?" Weak prose lives at those timestamps.

Other useful reader questions:

• "Which paragraphs felt slow?"
• "Where did you lose track of what was happening?"
• "Mark sentences that confused you."
• "Circle parts where you stopped caring."

One writer I worked with discovered readers consistently skipped her transition paragraphs. They were grammatically correct but full of throat-clearing phrases that added nothing. She cut 90% of them and picked up pace immediately.

Another writer learned that readers reread her dialogue tags. She'd written "he articulated thoughtfully" and "she proclaimed with conviction" instead of simple "he said" and "she said." The fancy tags pulled attention away from the actual conversation.

Train your beta readers to be specific. "I liked it" helps nobody. "I had to reread the paragraph about the storm three times" gives you a target for revision.

The 500-word sample that reveals your patterns

Take a section that feels typical of your writing. Not your best paragraph or your worst. Something representative.

Line-edit it ruthlessly. Cut every unnecessary word. Combine choppy sentences. Break up run-ons. Replace weak verbs. Eliminate filler.

Now look at what you cut. Those deletions reveal your personal weak spots.

Common patterns writers discover:

• Qualification addiction: "sort of," "rather," "quite," "somewhat"
• Redundancy reflex: "shouted loudly," "whispered quietly," "nodded his head"
• Passive voice default: "mistakes were made" instead of "I made mistakes"
• Filter word crutch: "she saw," "he felt," "they noticed"
• Hedge habit: "maybe," "perhaps," "it seems"

Make a list of your top five cuts. Search your manuscript for these patterns. You'll find dozens more instances to tighten.

One novelist discovered she started 60% of her sentences with "There was" or "There were."

Another found 47 instances of "just" in a single chapter.

A memoirist realized she qualified every emotion with "kind of" or "sort of."

These patterns are invisible while you're writing. The 500-word sample makes them visible so you address them systematically.

What strong prose looks like in contrast

Strong prose doesn't call attention to itself. It carries readers forward without friction. They forget they're reading words and experience the story directly.

Strong prose chooses specific verbs over general ones. It shows through concrete details instead of telling through abstractions. It varies sentence rhythm to match emotional beats. It trusts readers to follow clear, direct language.

Most importantly, strong prose serves the story. Every word earns its place by advancing plot, revealing character, or creating atmosphere. Weak prose includes words because they sound writerly or because the writer wasn't sure what to cut.

The difference between weak and strong prose isn't talent or experience. It's awareness. Once you know what weak prose looks like, you'll spot it everywhere, including your own work. Once you spot it, you fix it. Once you fix it consistently, your prose gets stronger.

Your readers will notice the difference, even if they don't know why your writing suddenly feels easier to read. That's the goal: invisible strength that carries them through your story without stumbling.

Clarity Killers: Filler, Redundancy, and Vague Language

Clarity slips when small habits pile up. One vague opener. One padded clause. One hedge too many. You know the result. Readers stop trusting the line and start scanning for the point.

Let’s cut the drag.

Throat-clearing openers

Writers warm up on the page. Readers feel that warm-up as delay.

Common culprits:

• “It’s important to note…”
• “In order to…”
• “I want to talk about…”
• “The purpose of this section is…”

Swap the warm-up for the action.

Before: “It’s important to note that our team plans to reduce response times this quarter.”

After: “Our team will reduce response times this quarter.”

Before: “In order to improve sales, we should consider testing new headlines.”

After: “Test new headlines to improve sales.”

Quick fix exercise: Open your draft. Delete the first clause of each paragraph. If the meaning survives, keep the cut.

Filler and intensifiers

These words pad lines without adding meaning. They also make you sound unsure.

Usual suspects:

• “just”
• “really”
• “very”
• “sort of”
• “kind of”
• “actually”

Replace mush with detail or a stronger noun or verb.

Before: “She was very tired.”

After: “She hadn’t slept in two nights.”

Before: “He walked really fast across the lobby.”

After: “He hurried across the lobby.”

Before: “The meeting was kind of a mess.”

After: “Five people talked at once. No one took notes.”

If you miss the rhythm those fillers gave, use a concrete beat instead. A gesture. A time stamp. A number.

Redundant pairs

Redundancy looks like emphasis but reads as bloat. Keep the word that does the job and drop the echo.

Trim these:

• “past history” → “history”
• “close proximity” → “proximity”
• “absolutely essential” → “essential”
• “advance planning” → “planning”
• “end result” → “result”
• “free gift” → “gift”
• “unexpected surprise” → “surprise”
• “future plans” → “plans”

Before: “The committee reviewed past history to inform future plans.”

After: “The committee reviewed history to inform plans.”

Before: “We met in close proximity to the exit.”

After: “We met by the exit.”

Run a search for the pairs you overuse. You will be surprised how often they hide in plain sight.

Empty expletives

“There is” and “It is” make weak openings because they hide the subject. Lead with the person or thing doing the action.

Before: “There is a man who wants to speak with you.”

After: “A man wants to speak with you.”

Before: “It is believed by many that the policy helps.”

After: “Many people believe the policy helps.”

Before: “There are several reasons the launch failed.”

After: “Production delays and a vague offer sank the launch.”

You do not need to ban “there is” from your work. Use it when you want to point to existence. “There is a calm after storms.” Most of the time, though, reframe the sentence and let the subject carry the meaning.

Hedging overload

Hedges signal uncertainty or courtesy. In small doses, they protect truth and show character. In piles, they drain authority.

Common hedges:

• “perhaps”
• “maybe”
• “seems”
• “appears to”
• “I think”
• “I believe”

Cut the hedge when you know the fact.

Before: “I think the door seems stuck.”

After: “The door is stuck.”

Before: “Perhaps the budget is too tight for travel.”

After: “The budget is too tight for travel.”

Keep the hedge when doubt matters to voice or accuracy.

• A cautious expert: “The data suggest a link.”
• An anxious narrator: “I think he saw me.”
• A careful promise: “We expect to ship on Friday.”

Ask one question for each hedge. Does uncertainty help the reader understand truth, tone, or point of view? If not, delete it.

How to check yourself, fast

Try this five-minute pass on any page.

1. Strike the first phrase if it feels like warm-up. Keep the sentence if the cut hurts clarity.
2. Highlight fillers and intensifiers. Replace with a detail or a stronger verb.
3. Scan for redundant pairs. Keep the stronger word.
4. Rewrite “There is” and “It is” openings to lead with the actor.
5. Test each hedge. Keep only the ones that serve voice or precision.

Mini before-and-after, all together

Before:

“There is a need to make it clear that our team is very committed to kind of improving response times. It seems like customers are often upset, which is absolutely essential to address in order to prevent churn.”

After:

“Our team will improve response times. Customers are often upset. Fix that to prevent churn.”

The second version respects the reader. Short, direct, specific.

Action step: build your search-and-destroy list

Make a personal hit list and run it near the end of edits, once big structural changes are done.

• Pull a 500-word slice from your draft.
• Line-edit hard. Track your deletions.
• List the ten fillers or patterns you cut most. Include hedges, expletives, redundant pairs, and pet phrases.
• Add them to a checklist or a doc you keep open when you edit.

Now run a global sweep.

• Use your editor’s Find feature. Search whole words to avoid false hits.
• Triage the results. Delete or replace where the word adds no meaning.
• Keep a few for voice, if they earn their stay.

Example list starters:

• “just”
• “really”
• “very”
• “sort of”
• “kind of”
• “there is”
• “it is”
• “seems”
• “appears”
• “in order to”

One more step for future you. Create a replacement habit.

• When you reach for “very,” look for a specific measure. “Two hours late.” “Eighty percent.” “Four floors.”
• When a sentence begins with “There is,” flip it. Put the subject first.
• When you write “maybe,” ask yourself what you know and say that.

Clean lines read with less effort. You earn trust with every clear sentence. Keep your prose lean and your meaning visible. Readers feel the difference on page one.

Verb Problems: Passive Voice, Nominalizations, and Filter Words

Verbs carry the load. When they slack, the whole line sags. Tighten your verbs and half your clarity work is done.

Passive voice, and when to keep it

Passive voice hides the doer. That muddies blame, praise, and cause.

• Passive: “The window was broken.”
• Active: “The boy broke the window.”

• Passive: “The report was filed late.”
• Active: “Jamal filed the report late.”

Keep passive only when the actor is unknown, irrelevant, or you want to center the receiver.

• “The store was robbed at noon.” Unknown robber.
• “The data were collected in 2020.” Process, not person.

Quick test: tack on “by zombies.” If it fits, you have passive. “The window was broken by zombies.” Now choose on purpose.

Exercise:

• Take one page.
• Circle every was or were with a past participle nearby.
• Ask, who did the action. If the answer matters, rewrite to active.

Nominalizations drain energy

A nominalization turns a verb into a noun. It often ends with -tion, -ment, -ance, or -ing. Then you need extra helper words to make it move. The sentence swells. The idea slows.

Swap the nouny phrase for the clean verb.

• “Make a decision” → “Decide”
• “Provide an explanation” → “Explain”
• “Conduct an investigation” → “Investigate”
• “Do an analysis” → “Analyze”
• “Give a presentation” → “Present”
• “Have a discussion” → “Discuss”

Before: “We made a decision to move the deadline.”

After: “We decided to move the deadline.”

Before: “She gave a description of the suspect.”

After: “She described the suspect.”

Before: “He conducted an assessment of risk.”

After: “He assessed the risk.”

Not all nominalizations are villains. Keep them when the concept matters more than the act. “Freedom of expression.” “Election interference.” Precision beats reflex.

Weak verb plus adverb

When a verb limps, writers reach for an adverb. It often signals a better verb is waiting.

Replace the pair with one precise verb or a clean detail.

• “Walked quickly” → “Hurried.” “Jogged.” “Rushed.”
• “Looked carefully” → “Inspected.” “Studied.”
• “Said angrily” → “Snapped.” “Growled.”
• “Whispered softly” → “Whispered.” The verb already implies soft.
• “Closed slowly” → “Closed inch by inch.” A detail can do the work.

Before: “She looked quickly through the files.”

After: “She skimmed the files.”

Before: “He pulled hard on the door.”

After: “He yanked the door.”

Adverbs still have a job. Use them for contrast or rhythm, not as a brace for weak verbs.

Filter words blur close point of view

In close point of view, readers live inside the character’s skin. Filter words add a pane of glass.

Common filters: saw, heard, noticed, realized, felt, thought, remembered, knew, wondered, decided.

Cut the filter when the sense is obvious from the image.

Before: “She saw a light flicker under the door.”

After: “A light flickered under the door.”

Before: “He felt cold water slide down his back.”

After: “Cold water slid down his back.”

Before: “I realized the train had left.”

After: “The train had left.”

Keep the filter when the act of noticing matters to story or timing.

• Delay or misread: “He thought the joke had landed. It hadn’t.”
• Doubt or denial: “She knew the call would come. She still jumped when it did.”
• Shift in awareness: “I remembered the spare key.”

Exercise:

• Pick a scene in close POV.
• Highlight every filter.
• Remove three. Read aloud. If the beat still tracks, keep the cut.

Keep subject and verb close

Distance between subject and verb drains force. Long clauses shoved in the middle ask the reader to juggle too much.

Before: “The dog, despite the heat from the asphalt and the noise from the street and the crowd waving flags, crouched.”

After: “The dog crouched despite the heat from the asphalt, the street noise, and the waving crowd.”

Before: “Our plan, after weeks of debate and a series of last-minute edits from legal, failed.”

After: “Our plan failed after weeks of debate and a series of last-minute edits from legal.”

Two quick moves:

• Put the main clause up front.
• Shift side details to the end, or turn them into a second sentence.

A mini tune-up, all at once

Before:

“There was a decision made by the team to quickly move the deadline, which, after a range of discussions with stakeholders who raised numerous concerns, was considered by many to be the right move.”

After:

“The team decided to move the deadline. After weeks of stakeholder debate, many thought it was the right move.”

Cleaner subject. Strong verb. Tidy order.

Action step: audit your be-verbs

Be-verbs are not bad. They set tense, carry voice, and sometimes deliver the line with the right flatness. They also invite passive voice and mush when overused.

Run this pass on one chapter:

1. Search for is, are, was, were, be, been, being. Highlight them.
2. For each, ask what the sentence does. Scene, summary, or statement.
3. Where action matters, swap be-verbs for concrete verbs.
   • “There were arguments in the hall.” → “People argued in the hall.”
   • “She was in possession of the keys.” → “She held the keys.”
   • “He was happy.” → “He grinned.” Or “He exhaled.” Pick a telling detail.
4. Where passive hides the doer, restore the subject.
   • “The forms were lost.” → “Shipping lost the forms.”
5. Where rhythm or voice depends on be, keep it. Flat lines have their place.

One last trick: read the paragraph aloud with stress on every verb. If your breath goes stale, your verbs need work. Choose movement over fog. Your pages will tighten. Your meaning will land.

Modifier Misfires: Adverbs, Clichés, and Dangling Phrases

Modifiers promise flavor. Used well, they sharpen meaning. Used loosely, they smother sense and slow the line. Here is how to keep control.

Adverbs: default or decision

Adverbs often prop up weak verbs. Strong verbs shoulder the work on their own.

• Walked quickly → hurried, jogged, rushed
• Spoke loudly → shouted, barked
• Looked carefully → inspected, studied
• Whispered softly → whispered
• Closed slowly → closed inch by inch

Before: “She looked quickly through the files.”

After: “She skimmed the files.”

Before: “He pulled hard on the door.”

After: “He yanked the door.”

Adverbs still earn a place when meaning shifts or rhythm needs a beat.

• “Almost laughed.” Degree matters.
• “Answered, oddly calm.” Contrast matters.
• “Hit squarely.” Precision matters.

Test: remove the adverb. If the sentence loses meaning, restore the word. If nothing breaks, keep the cut.

Mini-exercise:

• Highlight every word ending in -ly on one page.
• Keep three that change meaning.
• Replace the rest with stronger verbs or crisp detail.

Clichés drain voice

Clichés solve a problem fast, then steal the line’s life. Readers glide over stock phrases without seeing anything.

Common offenders:

• At the end of the day
• Cold as ice
• Back to square one
• Light at the end of the tunnel
• Lost track of time
• Busy as a bee

Swap the filler for a concrete image tied to character or setting.

• “At the end of the day, we won” → “By night, we had the contract.”
• “Cold as ice” → “Her fingers stuck to the railing.”
• “Light at the end of the tunnel” → “The exit sign blinked above the crowd.”
• “Lost track of time” → “Two hours slid by while the kettle screamed.”

A trick from line edits: search for the opening words of your pet phrases. Cut them on sight. Replace with something only you would write.

Mixed metaphors throw readers

A metaphor sets terms. Mixing frames usually jars.

• “A tsunami of silence choked the room” tangles sea and throat.
• “We need a home run to land this plane” blends baseball with aviation.

Choose one frame and hold to it through the beat.

• “Silence pressed on the room. No one breathed.”
• “We need a home run.” Or “We need to land this plane.” Not both.

If a figurative thread runs through a section, keep the source consistent. Garden with garden. Machinery with machinery. Ocean with ocean.

Mini-exercise:

• Underline every piece of figurative language in one scene.
• Group them by source. If two groups fight, keep one group and rewrite the other lines in plain speech.

Dangling and misplaced modifiers

A modifier must attach to the thing doing the action. When the subject shifts, readers stumble.

• Wrong: “Running down the street, the wallet fell.”
  Right: “Running down the street, I dropped the wallet.”
  Also right: “The wallet fell as I ran down the street.”

• Wrong: “Covered in syrup, the child ate pancakes.”
  Right: “Covered in syrup, the pancakes slid onto the plate.”
  Or: “The child, covered in syrup, ate pancakes.”

• Wrong: “After reading the study, the conclusion felt weak.”
  Right: “After reading the study, I found the conclusion weak.”

Quick test: ask who or what does the action in the opening phrase. Place that subject right after the comma.

Stacked adjectives blur the picture

Four adjectives rarely beat one strong noun or a single sharp detail.

• “A small, cute, fluffy, white dog” → “A small white dog.” Pick the traits that matter.
• “A big, old, rusty, green car” → “A green rusted sedan.” Or better, “An old green Civic.”
• “A dark, creepy, silent house” → “A silent house.” Then add one detail: “Windows boarded from inside.”

Often the fix is not an adjective. Swap the general noun for a precise noun.

• “Vehicle” → “Van.”
• “Container” → “Jar.”
• “Footwear” → “Boots.”

If a mood is the goal, a telling action outperforms a stack. “The dog trembled.” Stronger than “small, frightened, nervous dog.”

Mini-exercise:

• Choose one paragraph.
• Circle every adjective.
• For each, decide: keep one, swap the noun for a more precise noun, or replace with a detail or action.

Action step: color-code your modifiers

Run a quick color pass on one chapter.

• Highlight every -ly adverb in yellow.
• Highlight every metaphor or simile in blue.
• Highlight cliché suspects in pink.
• Highlight opening phrases that modify a subject in green.

Then prune.

• Keep adverbs that shift meaning. Replace the rest with stronger verbs or a clean detail.
• Keep figurative lines that sound like your voice and fit the scene’s frame. Flatten or rewrite mixed or tired ones.
• Fix any danglers by moving the true subject next to the phrase.
• Trim adjective stacks to one or two, or upgrade the noun.

Read the result aloud. If the picture snaps into focus and the line moves, the pass worked.

Rhythm and Sentence Structure: Pace That Serves the Story

Readers hear prose in the head. Rhythm sets mood, speed, and authority. Flat lines lull. Breathless chains wear readers out. Aim for control. Not perfection, control.

Vary sentence length on purpose

A page of same-sized sentences feels like a metronome glued to one tempo. Watch what happens with a quick swap.

Monotone:

• Sam walked into the office. He sat at his desk. He opened the laptop. He stared at the screen. He sighed.

Now with range:

• Sam stepped into the office. The chair squeaked. He opened the laptop and scanned the inbox, top to bottom. Silence. Then a ping.

Short lines punch. Longer lines carry nuance or reveal. You decide where the beat lands. That choice guides attention and emotion.

Mini-exercise:

• Take a paragraph. Mark sentence lengths. Short. Medium. Long.
• Swap one long line for two crisp ones.
• Merge two short lines into one smooth sentence.
• Read aloud and keep the version that breathes.

Stop run-ons and comma splices

A comma splice joins two full sentences with a comma. The ear trips, sense blurs.

• Wrong: “The storm passed, the streets steamed.”
• Fix: “The storm passed. The streets steamed.”
• Or: “The storm passed, and the streets steamed.”

Run-ons shove multiple thoughts into one frame without a proper join.

• Wrong: “We stayed for the meeting it ran long nobody left.”
• Fix: “We stayed for the meeting. It ran long. Nobody left.”
• Or: “We stayed for the meeting, and nobody left, even as the clock dragged.”

Use a period. Or a comma plus a joining word. A colon works for a reveal or list. Pick one solid link per join.

Quick test:

• Cover the comma with your finger.
• Read the left side. Complete sentence?
• Read the right side. Complete sentence?
• If both stand alone, separate with a period or a joining word.

Fragments with intent

Fragments add punch when used with restraint. Too many, and emphasis melts away.

• Overload: “We turned the corner. Saw the house. Ran fast. Felt sick.” Flat drumbeat. No lift.
• With intent: “We turned the corner and saw the house. Run now. Before the lights come on.”

Use a fragment to break rhythm in a high-tension moment. Or to mirror thought in a close point of view. Pick one spot. Two at most. Outside dialogue, sparing use keeps power.

Lead with the main clause

Front-loaded phrases delay meaning. Readers wait for the subject, then the verb, then the point. Offer the core first, add context after.

• Slow: “After months of delays and despite budget shocks across departments, the team approved the plan in a late meeting.”
• Clean: “The team approved the plan after months of delays and despite budget shocks.”

Another:

• Slow: “In an effort to meet the deadline without sacrificing quality, the editor reviewed every chapter overnight.”
• Clean: “The editor reviewed every chapter overnight to meet the deadline without sacrificing quality.”

When speed matters, front-load the main clause. When suspense helps, hold the verb for one beat, not five.

Mini-exercise:

• Find three sentences that begin with a long preface.
• Move the subject and verb to the front.
• Read both versions. Keep the one that lands faster without losing nuance.

Shape each paragraph

Paragraph sprawl hides structure. One core idea per block. Lead with a clear sentence. Support with two or three lines. Finish with a pivot, a beat, or a small payoff.

Example, sprawl:

• “Our launch needs more testing because the last round surfaced new bugs and marketing has raised questions about messaging, and the support team flagged a training gap, which means a delay seems likely, though leadership remains optimistic and wants weekly updates to track progress across functions.”

Tight version:

• “The launch needs more testing. Last round brought new bugs and fresh questions from marketing. Support flagged a training gap. Expect a delay. Leadership wants weekly updates.”

Short paragraphs signal speed or tension. Longer paragraphs invite reflection. Mix them with intent, not habit.

Mini-exercise:

• Print one page.
• Draw a line through the middle of any paragraph over seven lines.
• Add a hinge sentence to the new paragraph. Or move one sentence up to set a stronger focus.

Do a cadence pass

This pass targets breath and music, not only grammar.

• Read aloud with a pencil in hand.
• Mark every place your breath runs short. Split or trim.
• Mark every stretch that drags. Cut one clause or swap a weak join for a period.
• Mark every robot line where lengths match three in a row. Shorten one. Extend one.
• Mark every fragment. Keep one if it hits. Fold the rest into full sentences.
• Mark slow openers. Move the subject and verb forward.
• Mark paragraph walls. Break one, then add a hinge.

Last step. Read again to someone. A friend. A dog. A plant. Listen for the flinch, the yawn, the smile. Follow the ear. The line will tell you when the pace serves the story.

Dialogue and POV Style Slips

Dialogue carries voice and power. Point of view holds the reader close. When style slips, scenes wobble. The fixes are plain.

Stop tag clutter

Fancy tags pull focus. Opined, interjected, exclaimed. Noise. Readers skim past tags anyway. Said and asked get out of the way. Tone belongs in subtext and action.

Cluttered:

• “We should leave,” he opined nervously.
• “No, we stay,” she retorted defiantly.

Clean:

• “We should leave,” he said. His keys rattled in his hand.
• “No. We stay,” she said. Her jaw set.

Notice the beats. Physical detail carries mood. No need to gild the tag.

Mini-exercise:

• Highlight every tag in one scene.
• Swap verbs for said or asked.
• Add one beat where emotion matters. Cut the rest.

Trim adverbial tags

Adverbs in tags tell instead of showing. They also repeat information the line already holds.

Bland:

• “Close the door,” she said softly.

Sharper:

• “Close the door.” Her voice dropped.
• “Please. Close the door.” Softness lives in the word choice.

Bland:

• “Leave now,” he said angrily.

Sharper:

• “Leave. Now.” He shoveled papers into a bag.
• “Leave now,” he said. Heat rose in his face.

Adverbs earn a spot when contrast matters to voice. Otherwise, trade for action or sharper wording.

Mini-exercise:

• Circle every -ly after a tag.
• Keep two that serve contrast or rhythm.
• Revise the rest with action or stronger dialogue.

Cut stage directions every line

Over-description in talk scenes stalls pace. Readers want the volley, not a full mime routine.

Overloaded:

• “Sit,” Mark said, pulling out a chair, rubbing his temples, checking his phone.
• “No,” Lina said, crossing her arms, tapping her foot, glancing at the clock.
• “Please,” Mark said, standing up, pushing the chair closer, pointing at the seat.

Lean and focused:

• “Sit,” Mark said. He rubbed his temples.
• “No.” Lina stayed standing.
• “Please.” He nudged the chair with his shoe.

One beat per exchange, two in a heated moment. Pick details that reveal power, fear, desire, status. Leave furniture choreography for quiet scenes or when blocking matters to plot.

Guard the point of view

Head-hopping jolts readers. A scene needs one mind in charge. Others appear through behavior, voice, and effect on the viewpoint character.

Head-hop:

• Alice scanned the email and felt relief. Ben watched her and wondered whether she would share the news. He feared a demotion.

Single lens, Alice:

• Alice scanned the email. Relief loosened her shoulders.
• Ben watched her, unreadable. He drummed a finger on the desk.

We feel Alice. We infer Ben. For a switch, give a clean break. New line space. New header. A cue that signals a shift.

Tips for close third or first:

• Report thoughts and sensations from the viewpoint character only.
• Describe others through what the viewpoint character observes.
• Save other minds for later scenes.

Mini-exercise:

• Pick one scene.
• Underline every interior thought.
• Cross out thoughts from non-viewpoint characters. Replace with observable cues.

Match register and slang to character and context

Inconsistent diction knocks readers out of the moment. A teen who speaks like a grant proposal. A surgeon who drops meme slang in the OR with no purpose. The voice rings false.

Mismatch:

• “Pursuant to your earlier comment, I am, like, not enthused,” the sophomore said.

Aligned:

• “About your point earlier, I’m not into that,” the sophomore said.
• Or tighter: “About before? I’m not into it.” Careful, “it” appears here. Replace with “that idea.”

Context steers register. Friends on a couch speak loose. Courtroom dialogue tightens. Code-switching belongs when character and situation demand it, and when the scene cues the switch.

Checklist:

• Read a page per character. Ears on rhythm and word choice.
• Flag lines that sound like the author, not the speaker.
• Adjust slang density. A hint goes far.

Action step: strip and rebuild

• Copy one dialogue-heavy scene into a fresh doc.
• Delete every tag and beat.
• Read aloud. Add said or asked only where attribution helps.
• Layer minimal beats to signal emotion, movement, or power shift.
• Do a POV check. Thoughts belong to one mind per scene.
• Do a register pass. Align diction with character and moment.
• Final read aloud. Listen for speed, clarity, and heat.

Frequently Asked Questions

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