Writing Tips: Said-Bookisms, the Obscure Sin that Can Doom a Manuscript

I’ve been writing professionally for more than fifteen years, and I’ve been reading avidly for far longer.  Over the years the publishing market has seen sea-changes in almost every respect, with ramifications for the business, the very act of reading, and yes, even the way books are written.  One of the changes that baffled me when I first entered the field was the market’s sharp turn away from what are now known as “said-bookisms.”

Let’s start with a definition.  What is a said-bookism?  Basically, it is any word other than said or asked that is used to describe how a character speaks a line of dialogue.  Phrases like “he hissed,” “she croaked,” “he inquired,” “she averred,” “he rasped,” “she lamented,” and about a thousand more are all considered said-bookisms.  And all of them are looked upon with disfavor by editors and publishers.

I first heard the term said-bookism back when I was revising what would be my first published novel, and as I say, I was baffled.  Hadn’t I read literally hundreds of books in which authors attributed lines of dialogue in just this way?  Had they changed the rules just to mess with my head?  As it happens, my entry into the publishing world did pretty much coincide with this change in the market, so I could be forgiven for my confusion (if not for my sense of self-importance that I would think the entire industry had changed to make me suffer….)

And once I had the issue explained to me, I began to see why said-bookisms had fallen into disfavor.  If you write, you’ve heard people tell you “Show, don’t tell.”  We convey emotion, drama, and all the other goodies that drive our narratives by letting readers experience our characters’ reactions first hand.  By writing, “No!” he roared, we are, in effect, telling our readers how he said the word.  If instead we write “No!”  His voice hammered at her, we give the reader a sense of how our point of view character experiences that roar, without even having to use the word.  Let’s try another, longer example.  The following passage comes from the second chapter of Thieftaker (Tor Books, July 2012).  I’m going to give you two versions; the first is full of said-bookisms:

“Mister Kaille,” the merchant drawled. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Is there a problem?”
He was a short, round man whose clothes didn’t fit him quite right. They were too long in the sleeves and legs and too tight around the middle. He was bald except for tufts of steel gray hair that poked out from behind his ears, and he wore spectacles on the end of his nose.
“There’s no problem, sir,” Ethan replied, producing the necklaces and laying them on a small table beside the hearth. “I’ve come to return your wife’s jewels.”
“You’ve found them already!” he exclaimed.  “Well done, Mister Kaille!”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And the thief?” Corbett demanded, examining each necklace by the light of an oil lamp.
“Daniel Folter.”
“Daniel?” the merchant gaped.  “You’re sure?”
“Yes, sir. You know him?”
Corbett hesitated. “He did some work for me a year or so ago,” he explained. “He even expressed interest in courting my older daughter, though I didn’t encourage him in that regard.”  He shook his head. “Still, I’m surprised. I never figured the man for a thief.”

And now, the same passage without said-bookisms, but rather with attribution as it appears in the book:

“Mister Kaille,” the merchant said grimly. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Is there a problem?”
He was a short, round man whose clothes didn’t fit him quite right. They were too long in the sleeves and legs and too tight around the middle. He was bald except for tufts of steel gray hair that poked out from behind his ears, and he wore spectacles on the end of his nose.
“There’s no problem, sir,” Ethan said, producing the necklaces and laying them on a small table beside the hearth. “I’ve come to return your wife’s jewels.”
Corbett’s entire bearing changed. His eyes widened and as he crossed to the table he actually broke into a smile. “You’ve found them already!  Well done, Mister Kaille!”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And the thief?” Corbett asked, examining each necklace by the light of an oil lamp.
“Daniel Folter.”
The merchant looked at him. “Daniel?  You’re sure?”
“Yes, sir. You know him?”
Corbett hesitated. “He did some work for me a year or so ago. He even expressed interest in courting my older daughter, though I didn’t encourage him in that regard.”  He shook his head. “Still, I’m surprised. I never figured the man for a thief.”

This second version is clearer, more evocative; we lose nothing by removing the said-bookisms and, I would argue, actually gain clarity and emotional power.  One might think that using “said” and “asked” all the time, instead of mixing in synonyms (“explained,” “demanded,” etc.) would make the passage too repetitive.  But actually what happens is that the “saids” and “askeds” become practically invisible, allowing the reader to focus on the more important matters of action, emotion, context, plot, character, etc.

I do not eliminate all said-bookisms from my work.  I will use them at times to convey volume or manner of speaking — “she whispered,” “he muttered,” “she called,” and a few others.  At times a reader needs to know how the words are spoken. But I try to avoid using any said-bookisms to convey emotion.  That I do with facial expression, gesture, and the spoken words themselves.  And again, that is what the market prefers right now.  Could this change again?  Certainly. But for now, you should try to remove said-bookisms from your writing.  Doing so will improve your chances of selling that first story or book manuscript.

Best of luck, and keep writing!