The Evil of Adverbs

"You look beautiful," he said nervously.

"I can't wait for tonight," she said excitedly.

"I can't believe you," he said angrily.

What do the bolded words have in common? They're all adverbs, and they're all evil. Like, Lord-Voldemort evil.

Kill them now, or your writing career is in great peril.

Here's why:
We've all heard the old adage "Show, Don't Tell." In some cases, of course, that's not feasible. Sometimes you just want to give us some factual information about a character--so-and-so is fifty-four, such-and-such has blond hair gone prematurely gray. Whatever. Occasionally telling is fine. In fact, "telling" is an essential part of narrative.

But when it comes to revealing what your characters feel, the beauty of fiction lies in the discovery.

The best fiction is greater than its parts. in other words, all fiction consists of action, exposition, and dialogue (although I tend to include dialogue as part of action). But in great fiction, the juxtaposition of these three things allows you, as the reader, to discover emotional truths not just about the characters in the book, but about yourself. You get to "read" yourself into the book, and see yourself reflected there; but in order for this to happen, you need room to insert yourself, mysterious spaces that don't TELL you how to feel, but allow you to grope your way in on your own.

That is why showing and not telling is so important.

Take the second example above:

"I can't wait for tonight," she said excitedly.

This sentence, written as is, establishes with the reader the relationship of strict teacher to unruly child. In other words, this sentence says: here is everything you have to know, and don't ask why. It's just because I said so.

On the other hand, take this sentence:

"I can't wait for tonight," she said, wrestling a t-shirt over her head. She didn't seem to notice that she'd put it on inside out.

In this case, the reader has to do work--unconsciously or consciously--to determine the emotional state of the character. She's excited--she even says so--but she's also excited to distraction. Something big is going to happen tonight, or at least the character expects it to, and the anticipation is totally consuming her.
All of this work has occurred in a fraction of a second in the reader's head, probably without him/her even realizing it. So the relationship here is one of cooperation: I wrote a sentence, but it must be interpreted and enlivened by the reader. I have reached out my hand; in order for the sentence to work, the reader must reach out and grab my hand back.
We are now connected.

That is, of course, also one of the roles of good fiction: it connects you to something outside yourself.

So let's all agree: Down with adverbs!!