Merrilee crept through the plot, ducking the twisted branches that threatened to entangle the fragile narrative she carried on her back. A flock of adverbs fluttered heavily across the page. With no foreshadowing, a minor villain appeared; throwing the readers into confusion. Action was needed, and fast.
She drew the gun, hand shaking. Her alpha reader’s comments came back to her; truthful, damning. “Watch out. You’ve got guns appearing out of nowhere.”
Behind the villain, she saw that the scene was weak and shaky. She was angry at the situation. She heard the narrative falter, then felt it start up again with a lurch. Telling was choking the life out of it. She looked over her shoulder. There was only one way out of this exposition.
Not Enough Words 