A guy named Clive Thompson’s built a tool that will roll through a piece of text and only show you the questions posed in the writing. I learned of it via a Austin Kleon post, and I applied it to a text I’m focused on a lot right now, the re-release of Winged, With Sharp Teeth. The results aren’t particularly pretty in terms of formatting, but they are interesting:
Then, Steve said, “how often does it come?” “That many?” “You ever been tempted to go?” “No?” Why wouldn’t you, when life gets hard?” He stopped and brought out that smile again, turned it on Steve full force “But as an adult? You just got to pay attention to what’s going on around you, yeah?” “Well?” “How are things with your new man?” “Just good?” “How old is he?” “Him?” “You’re sure?” “What do you dream about?” “But when you were a kid?” “What did you want to be?” Duke said, “Do you ever regret not going, back when you were a kid?” “But how do you know?” “We just…stopped working, you know? “What?” “What’s so wrong with forgiving someone?” “Isn’t that what love is?”
I’ve got this bookmarked as an editorial tool, because I long ago came to appreciate just what too many questions marked in a draft-in-progress. Sometimes they’re good exchanges, but often they’re a sign a writer trying to lock down details and using Q&A to build a scene. Questions appeal because they feel like conflict, even if they’re just scouting out what happens next (in much the same way that “I woke up and didn’t know where I was” feels like an interesting starting point, because exploration becomes conflict resolution, even if it’s not engaging for a reader).
The line between good questions and bad questions in a story often comes down to subtext. Questions that aren’t really asking what they’re asking come pre-loaded with stakes, and give the reader a space in the interrogation because they’re interpreting what’s going on.
