Writers strive for complexity in their stories. Complicated and flawed characters who are also relatable and redeemable. Intricate worldbuilding. Carefully sprinkled breadcrumbs of foreshadowing and mystery. Layers upon layers to be pulled back and deciphered microcosm by microcosm.
We want to write our stories in a way that invites readers to sink into them, but some writers find themselves barrel-rolling off the deep end, drowning their readers in the depths of that complexity.
This begs the question: how do you keep things interesting without being overwhelming? And the answer comes in the form of a four-letter word.
K.I.S.S. is an acronym standing for Keep It Simple, Stupid. It has origins in the marketing and manufacturing sphere but has become well-known advice among writers and is, well, as simple as it sounds. K.I.S.S. refers to simplifying elements of your writing to make them easier for readers to understand.
This isn't about dumbing things down by any means. It's making sure everything comes across clearly and that all of the key points of your story are hit successfully.
In this post, I'm sharing some ways to implement K.I.S.S. in your writing and create a smooth reading experience for your audience.
Super-Sized Stories
New writers especially will be advised to write high-concept fiction because it sells. High-concept fiction is often based on ideas that wouldn't be as likely to happen in everyday life.
The more unique and the higher the stakes, the better.
This often prompts writers to throw every idea they've got at their manuscript to make it more complex and, as far as they're led to believe, more likely to sell.
I'm as guilty of this as any writer. One of the prevailing issues in my for-now-shelved first effort at writing a novel was that there was too much going on at once. Multiple love triangles (as you might expect from a teenage writer in the 2010s). A textbook amount of research clumsily dumped in. Every character, no matter how minor, had a lengthy backstory. Everybody was involved in no less than three concurrent subplots at varying degrees of relevance to the central storyline.
There's a reason this one manuscript ended up being over six hundred pages in Microsoft Word!
Complex narratives are good to have, but when they get too complex, problems will arise. You may find it difficult to wrap everything up in a way that will satisfy your readers.
My biggest critique of American Horror Story, primarily in later seasons, is that the basic idea for any installment of the anthology series tends to be intriguing but gets so convoluted that the central plot is lost, resulting in too many pieces to fit together coherently by the end of the season.
In contrast, there's Speak No Evil. The Danish psychological horror film has a simple premise: a people-pleasing Danish family travels to visit the Dutch family they met on vacation and things go very, very wrong. The simplicity of the idea means the plot doesn't have to establish an exceeding amount of context and can instead focus on gradually doling out the slow-burn introvert's nightmare that made it such a compelling watch.
Having so much to keep track of can result in plot holes and ideas that go nowhere. And worst of all, giving your readers too much to keep track of can make for a confusing, hectic, and less enjoyable experience.
If you're worried about excessive storylines bogging down your pacing, consider how much each drives the central narrative forward. If a plot or scene has little to no impact on the main events, it may be smart to cut it. For example, in that aforementioned WIP, it's probable that I'd do away with things like the manor's cook's backstory about his estranged daughter and the entire chapter dedicated to one protagonist's sort of ex-girlfriend/situationship and this random guy she's been leading on; it adds a little more depth but derails the momentum of the story.
You can always save these bits for a future story, whether a sequel or companion novel linked to your current WIP or an entirely new idea!
Worldbuilding Relevance
Middling complexity isn't only a plot affliction. It also crops up in worldbuilding.
In some of the writing classes I took in college, we'd spend time filling out worksheets to help us develop the settings of our stories. Questions ranged from the basics like place names and typical weather to the more minute if not obscure like population size or local holiday traditions. Fantasy and science fiction are notorious for having tomes' worth of worldbuilding, but it can happen in any genre and be done by any writer.
Knowing every corner of your setting can make it easier to write about and create an immersive world for your readers to explore but, if you're not careful, your readers can get lost.
One of my go-to examples of extensive and effective worldbuilding is The Hunger Games. In the first couple of chapters, we get the basic history of Panem as it relates to the titular games, but the majority of exposition is about District 12 because it's Katniss's home and since the story is narrated in her POV, we as the audience are limited to the scope of her knowledge; chances are she shouldn't know as much about District 7. But she (and author Suzanne Collins) skip that external worldbuilding because it isn't relevant in the opening chapters. The objective of those first few scenes prior to the Reaping Ceremony is to establish Katniss's bond with Prim and her position as the main provider for her family in an impoverished District, therefore establishing the stakes. Veering off into information about other Districts would result in distracting clutter.
Only once Katniss arrives at the Capitol do we get more worldbuilding—and it pertains to what Katniss is experiencing and learning about this new setting firsthand. It sticks to what is relevant in that given moment, the details Katniss would most likely notice and those that help drive the story forward.
In the first novel, both Tributes from District 7 are killed in the initial bloodbath, rendering any info about their District irrelevant—especially compared to District 11. Katniss befriends the female Tribute, Rue.
It's Rue who comes up with the four-note Mockingjay call as a covert signal between her and Katniss while in the arena, explaining that laborers in the fields of District 11 use the birds to communicate with each other over long distances; it later becomes synonymous with the series. From a storytelling perspective, getting more info on District 11 allows readers to feel a closer connection to Rue than perhaps Foxface of District 5, making Rue's death as heartbreaking for us as it is for Katniss (I am, of course, majorly simplifying the lingering role Rue has in the series).
In Catching Fire, Katniss and Peeta are made to take part in the traditional Victory Tour, during which the winner of that year's Hunger Games is paraded across Panem, allowing readers to see more of it than in The Hunger Games, where Katniss was confined to the Capitol or the arena for much of the story.
Since the Victor's District is skipped and saved for last and the tour goes in descending numerical order, the first stop for Katniss and Peeta is District 11.
We spend a while in District 11 not only since it's where readers are introduced to the solemn pomp and circumstance of the Victory Tour but also because it carries an emotional weight for Katniss as Rue's home; additionally, their male Tribute spared Katniss when he could have easily killed her, saying it was a one-time deal in honor of Rue, and his mercy means Katniss is still alive in his stead. It wouldn't make sense to linger on her and Peeta's time in District 7 because they—and the reader—don't have the same connection.
Now for those who feel that I'm needlessly picking on District 7, worry not! District 7 gets to play a slightly larger role in Catching Fire through Johanna Mason, one of Katniss's new allies in the Quarter Quell.
Suffice this all to say that Panem is an expansive setting jam-packed with detail, but Suzanne Collins keeps it simple by expanding on things as Katniss encounters them while sticking to stuff that matters, when it matters.
When guiding readers through the world of your own story, ask yourself in the worldbuilding exposition you're giving them matters in that exact moment. If it doesn't relate to the current scene, or it's outside of your POV character's wheelhouse, it may be better to omit.
You can always expand on your worldbuilding details in future installments, share fun facts on your website or social media pages, or even publish a companion reader's reference guide like The Hunger Games Tribute Guide for readers who do want to embark on those deep dives.
Character Cut-Downs
Another way writers can keep their stories simple is by reassessing the size of their cast.
Large ensembles can be terribly fun to write, but they can lead to instances of too many cooks in the proverbial kitchen—and that's a recipe for encumbered readers.
I've got a post that goes into greater depth about cutting characters from your WIP, but to sum it up for the purposes of this post, cutting characters who don't impact the events of your story as significantly as others helps you hone your focus.
If you're worried about having too many subplots, backstories, and voices to wrangle, narrowing down your cast of characters can help keep things simple.
Phrasing Frustrations And Word Choice Woes
K.I.S.S. doesn't only apply to the different elements of your story but the way you're telling it.
We all like to feel smart, so many writers—myself included—develop a habit of using flowery language and SAT vocab in their writing.
I've got very distinct memories of my fourth grade teacher using phrases like "hundred dollar words" and up concerning the vocabulary we used in persuasive essay assignments. Saying that something was big wouldn't be as valuable on this scale as saying it was immense, so you'd want to use the latter.
While it's definitely a good idea to make sure kids have a broad vernacular in their pocket and encourage them to use it, I feel like it may have opened up a pitfall in my writing.
For years, Thesaurus.com and WordHippo.com might as well have been my browser's homepage because of how often I'd frequent them in trying to find the most impressive synonym for a basic word. Because the higher hypothetical monetary value a word had, the better my writing would be, right?
Ha. Wrong.
In trying to enrich my writing, I'd actually made it into an unintelligible mess. Sentences were clunky and I often found myself having to look up the definitions for words that I had put there. And If I couldn't make sense of my own writing, how could I expect my readers to? Not to mention having to look up every other word breaks the flow.
Clarity is key when you're writing. No matter if it's an email or a novel, making sure that your reader understands your message is crucial.
You could say that the curtains in a character's office are saxe, manufactured from a pellucid material, or that they're blue and made from a sheer fabric. One seems clearer than the other and, therefore, less likely to trip your readers up.
Flowery language can work on some occasions, and readers can use context clues to comprehend your writing, but it's typically better to err on the side of caution and only break out the hundred-dollar vocab every so often.
Keeping your story simple is the first step in making it accessible to your audience. Avoiding dalliances and tangents in your plot helps you hone in your focus. Smaller casts can make it easier for your readers to care about the characters they do get to meet. Simplified worldbuilding still allows for complexity, presenting it in a more digestible way so your readers don't get lost. And making sure to tell your story clearly with a reasonable budget of hundred dollar words still make sure you don't break the bank—and your reader's brain in the process.
K.I.S.S. seems like such a silly, simple little acronym, but it plays a key role in effective storytelling.
So pucker up, buttercup, and keep it simple! 💋
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