Once there was a short cigar-smoking ex-newspaper editor named Bruce. In his earlier years, Bruce covered the police blotter and town-council meetings. He learned his craft, not in college, but on the street and called his stories in from the local bar. But learn it he did and he was good at it. Taught me a thing or two anyway.
One day Bruce read something of mine and said, “Garrett, you’ve got haditis.”
“Haditis?” I said and checked my breath.
“Yep, you’re using had all over the place. Had this and had that.”
Looking at the sentences his fingers were tracing, I saw what he meant. Or thought I did. The hads struck me as repetitious, but they were grammatically correct and I said so. “Besides,” I said. “I’m using them in a flashback and had indicates a previous time.”
Bruce put out his cigar and graciously proceeded to open my eyes.
Since those days, I’ve seen the same advice repeated in popular books on the writing craft. In Techniques of the Selling Writer, Dwight Swain has this to say about the overuse of had:
Worst of all to be’s forms is the past perfect tense. You can recognize it by the word had—a red flag of danger in your story every time.
For had describes not just a static state, but a static state in the past: “He had traveled far that day.” “I never had realized how much I loved her.”
Each had makes your story jerk, because it jars your reader out of present action and throws him back into past history. (p. 28)
And Sol Stein has this to say in Stein on Writing:
Certain words should carry warning labels for the writer. “Had” is the number-one villain. It spoils more flashbacks than any other word. Most fiction is written in the straight past tense. When writing flashbacks, as quickly as possible use the same tense you’re using for the present scenes. That means in almost all cases the straight past tense, not the variants. Instead of saying, “I had been remembering…”, say “I remembered…” (p. 144-145)
Mr. Stein continues for several pages on how to do flashbacks correctly. On the grotesque double had (had had) he has this to say:
Sometimes authors double up on a fault with “had had,” or use the contraction for “had,” and compound the problem with another word to avoid in flashbacks, “then”:
Ellie had had a mother who wanted a boy and who’d made Ellie wear boys’ clothes and cut her hair like a boy for years. Then one day…
The author should have written:
Ellie’s mother wanted a boy. She made Ellie wear boys’ clothes and cut her hair like a boy’s for years. One day…
Solution: Use had to signal the flashback, then immediately resume your use of the simple past tense.
As an exercise, I’ve had students edit had-contaminated paragraphs from some pretty famous writers. Dickens’ prose is particularly constipated. Here’s a sample of how to remedy the ailment from Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind:
January and February of 1864 passed, full of cold rains and wild winds, clouded by pervasive gloom and depression. In addition to the defeats at Gettysburg and Vicksburg, the center of the Southern line had caved. After hard fighting, nearly all of Tennessee was now held by the Union troops. But even with this loss on the top of the others, the South’s spirit was not broken. True, grim determination had taken the place of high-hearted hopes, but people could still find a silver lining in the cloud. For one thing, the Yankees had been stoutly repulsed in September when they had tried to follow up their victories in Tennessee by an advance into Georgia.
Here in the northwesternmost corner of the state, at Chickamauga, serious fighting had occurred on Georgia soil for the first time since the war began. The Yankees had taken Chattanooga and then had marched through the mountain passes into Georgia, but they had been driven back with heavy losses.
Atlanta and its railroads had played a big part in making Chickamauga a great victory for the South. Over the railroads that led down from Virginia to Atlanta and then northward to Tennessee, General Longstreet’s corps had been rushed to the scene of the battle. Along the entire route of several hundred miles, the tracks had been cleared and all the available rolling stock in the Southeast had been assembled for the movement.
Atlanta had watched while train after train rolled through the town, hour after hour, passenger coaches, box cars, flat cars, filled with shouting men. They had come without food or sleep, without their horses, ambulances or supply trains and, without waiting for the rest, they had leaped from the trains and into the battle. And the Yankees had been driven out of Georgia, back into Tennessee.
It was the greatest feat of the war, and Atlanta took pride and personal satisfaction in the thought that its railroads had made the victory possible.
But the South had needed the cheering news from Chickamauga to strengthen its morale through the winter. No one denied now that the Yankees were good fighters and, at last, they had good generals. Grant was a butcher who did not care how many men he slaughtered for a victory, but victory he would have. Sheridan was a name to bring dread to Southern hearts. And, then, there was a man named Sherman who was being mentioned more and more often. He had risen to prominence in the campaigns in Tennessee and the West, and his reputation as a determined and ruthless fighter was growing.
Notice all the “had beens.” These flag passive voice. My revision follows. Note the first use of had is retained to show a transition to the past, followed by a switch to past tense. Had is retained only where it makes better sense.
January and February of 1864 passed, full of cold rains and wild winds, clouded by pervasive gloom and depression. In addition to the defeats at Gettysburg and Vicksburg, the center of the Southern line had caved. After hard fighting, the Union troops held nearly all of Tennessee. But even with this loss on the top of the others, the South’s spirit was not broken. True, grim determination took the place of high-hearted hopes, but people could still find a silver lining in the cloud. For one thing, the Yankees were stoutly repulsed in September when they tried to follow up their victories in Tennessee by an advance into Georgia.
Here in the northwesternmost corner of the state, at Chickamauga, serious fighting occurred on Georgia soil for the first time since the war began. The Yankees took Chattanooga and then marched through the mountain passes into Georgia, but were driven back with heavy losses.
Atlanta and its railroads played a big part in making Chickamauga a great victory for the South. The railroads that led down from Virginia to Atlanta and then northward to Tennessee rushed General Longstreet’s corps to the scene of battle. Along the entire route of several hundred miles, the tracks were cleared and all available rolling stock in the Southeast assembled for the movement.
Atlanta watched while train after train rolled through the town, hour after hour, passenger coaches, box cars, flat cars, filled with shouting men. They came without food or sleep, without their horses, ambulances or supply trains and, without waiting for the rest, leaped from the trains and into battle. And the Yankees were driven out of Georgia, back into Tennessee.
It was the greatest feat of the war, and Atlanta took pride and personal satisfaction in the thought that its railroads made the victory possible.
But the South needed the cheering news from Chickamauga to strengthen its morale through the winter. No one denied now that the Yankees were good fighters and, at last, they had good generals. Grant was a butcher who did not care how many men he slaughtered for a victory, but victory he would have. Sheridan was a name to bring dread to Southern hearts. Then, there was a man named Sherman who was being mentioned more and more often. He had risen to prominence in the campaigns in Tennessee and the West, and his reputation as a determined and ruthless fighter was growing.
Bruce passed some years ago and had still slips into first drafts, but I’ll be damned if much of it survives the final edit!
Thanks Bruce.
One day Bruce read something of mine and said, “Garrett, you’ve got haditis.”
“Haditis?” I said and checked my breath.
“Yep, you’re using had all over the place. Had this and had that.”
Looking at the sentences his fingers were tracing, I saw what he meant. Or thought I did. The hads struck me as repetitious, but they were grammatically correct and I said so. “Besides,” I said. “I’m using them in a flashback and had indicates a previous time.”
Bruce put out his cigar and graciously proceeded to open my eyes.
Since those days, I’ve seen the same advice repeated in popular books on the writing craft. In Techniques of the Selling Writer, Dwight Swain has this to say about the overuse of had:
Worst of all to be’s forms is the past perfect tense. You can recognize it by the word had—a red flag of danger in your story every time.
For had describes not just a static state, but a static state in the past: “He had traveled far that day.” “I never had realized how much I loved her.”
Each had makes your story jerk, because it jars your reader out of present action and throws him back into past history. (p. 28)
And Sol Stein has this to say in Stein on Writing:
Certain words should carry warning labels for the writer. “Had” is the number-one villain. It spoils more flashbacks than any other word. Most fiction is written in the straight past tense. When writing flashbacks, as quickly as possible use the same tense you’re using for the present scenes. That means in almost all cases the straight past tense, not the variants. Instead of saying, “I had been remembering…”, say “I remembered…” (p. 144-145)
Mr. Stein continues for several pages on how to do flashbacks correctly. On the grotesque double had (had had) he has this to say:
Sometimes authors double up on a fault with “had had,” or use the contraction for “had,” and compound the problem with another word to avoid in flashbacks, “then”:
Ellie had had a mother who wanted a boy and who’d made Ellie wear boys’ clothes and cut her hair like a boy for years. Then one day…
The author should have written:
Ellie’s mother wanted a boy. She made Ellie wear boys’ clothes and cut her hair like a boy’s for years. One day…
Solution: Use had to signal the flashback, then immediately resume your use of the simple past tense.
As an exercise, I’ve had students edit had-contaminated paragraphs from some pretty famous writers. Dickens’ prose is particularly constipated. Here’s a sample of how to remedy the ailment from Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind:
January and February of 1864 passed, full of cold rains and wild winds, clouded by pervasive gloom and depression. In addition to the defeats at Gettysburg and Vicksburg, the center of the Southern line had caved. After hard fighting, nearly all of Tennessee was now held by the Union troops. But even with this loss on the top of the others, the South’s spirit was not broken. True, grim determination had taken the place of high-hearted hopes, but people could still find a silver lining in the cloud. For one thing, the Yankees had been stoutly repulsed in September when they had tried to follow up their victories in Tennessee by an advance into Georgia.
Here in the northwesternmost corner of the state, at Chickamauga, serious fighting had occurred on Georgia soil for the first time since the war began. The Yankees had taken Chattanooga and then had marched through the mountain passes into Georgia, but they had been driven back with heavy losses.
Atlanta and its railroads had played a big part in making Chickamauga a great victory for the South. Over the railroads that led down from Virginia to Atlanta and then northward to Tennessee, General Longstreet’s corps had been rushed to the scene of the battle. Along the entire route of several hundred miles, the tracks had been cleared and all the available rolling stock in the Southeast had been assembled for the movement.
Atlanta had watched while train after train rolled through the town, hour after hour, passenger coaches, box cars, flat cars, filled with shouting men. They had come without food or sleep, without their horses, ambulances or supply trains and, without waiting for the rest, they had leaped from the trains and into the battle. And the Yankees had been driven out of Georgia, back into Tennessee.
It was the greatest feat of the war, and Atlanta took pride and personal satisfaction in the thought that its railroads had made the victory possible.
But the South had needed the cheering news from Chickamauga to strengthen its morale through the winter. No one denied now that the Yankees were good fighters and, at last, they had good generals. Grant was a butcher who did not care how many men he slaughtered for a victory, but victory he would have. Sheridan was a name to bring dread to Southern hearts. And, then, there was a man named Sherman who was being mentioned more and more often. He had risen to prominence in the campaigns in Tennessee and the West, and his reputation as a determined and ruthless fighter was growing.
Notice all the “had beens.” These flag passive voice. My revision follows. Note the first use of had is retained to show a transition to the past, followed by a switch to past tense. Had is retained only where it makes better sense.
January and February of 1864 passed, full of cold rains and wild winds, clouded by pervasive gloom and depression. In addition to the defeats at Gettysburg and Vicksburg, the center of the Southern line had caved. After hard fighting, the Union troops held nearly all of Tennessee. But even with this loss on the top of the others, the South’s spirit was not broken. True, grim determination took the place of high-hearted hopes, but people could still find a silver lining in the cloud. For one thing, the Yankees were stoutly repulsed in September when they tried to follow up their victories in Tennessee by an advance into Georgia.
Here in the northwesternmost corner of the state, at Chickamauga, serious fighting occurred on Georgia soil for the first time since the war began. The Yankees took Chattanooga and then marched through the mountain passes into Georgia, but were driven back with heavy losses.
Atlanta and its railroads played a big part in making Chickamauga a great victory for the South. The railroads that led down from Virginia to Atlanta and then northward to Tennessee rushed General Longstreet’s corps to the scene of battle. Along the entire route of several hundred miles, the tracks were cleared and all available rolling stock in the Southeast assembled for the movement.
Atlanta watched while train after train rolled through the town, hour after hour, passenger coaches, box cars, flat cars, filled with shouting men. They came without food or sleep, without their horses, ambulances or supply trains and, without waiting for the rest, leaped from the trains and into battle. And the Yankees were driven out of Georgia, back into Tennessee.
It was the greatest feat of the war, and Atlanta took pride and personal satisfaction in the thought that its railroads made the victory possible.
But the South needed the cheering news from Chickamauga to strengthen its morale through the winter. No one denied now that the Yankees were good fighters and, at last, they had good generals. Grant was a butcher who did not care how many men he slaughtered for a victory, but victory he would have. Sheridan was a name to bring dread to Southern hearts. Then, there was a man named Sherman who was being mentioned more and more often. He had risen to prominence in the campaigns in Tennessee and the West, and his reputation as a determined and ruthless fighter was growing.
Bruce passed some years ago and had still slips into first drafts, but I’ll be damned if much of it survives the final edit!
Thanks Bruce.