Reader,

Did you know that Charles Dickens wrote five Christmas books?

Most people are familiar with A Christmas Carol. Yet that story was merely the first Christmas book that Dickens published. Its rousing success led to an annual tradition:

• A Christmas Carol was published in 1843
• In 1844, he published The Chimes
• In 1845, he published The Cricket on the Hearth
• In 1846, he published The Battle of Life
• In 1847, he took a break
• In 1848, he published The Haunted Man, his final Christmas novella

I don't like prejudicing other readers. However, I feel compelled to acknowledge that these other novellas lack the captivating allure that's made A Christmas Carol a classic. And yet, because Dickens is one of my favorite authors, I'm persevering through to the end. For the past few years I've read one of these stories in December. This year, that's led me to The Battle of Life.

I recognize that Dickens isn't every reader's cup of tea. He's wordy. He can be incredibly sentimental. His stories include a number of fantastic coincidences that you might not want to believe.

Honestly, though, those are probably the primary reasons I keep coming back to his books. For all his sentimentality, he's fully aware of just how harsh our world can be. Indeed, this awareness fuels the majority of his stories. He didn't just set out to entertain: he uses each of his stories to highlight injustice and champion people who often had no platform of their own. You can certainly question how effective he was, and you can point out flaws in his character, but you can't deny he was a man of great heart.

He also knew how to write a strong sentence, which is why I'm going on at length about these Christmas books. Take this example from The Battle of Life:

Here, Dickens ingeniously stirs our hearts simply by describing Britain's actions.

We know from the first sentence that this character is about to serve up some meat. And yet, we can't help but feel uneasy by that second sentence. Why is Britain "approaching Mr. Snitchey" instead of standing by the meat? Why is his question so terse? In fact, why is it "throw[n] ... like a missile"?

As writers, we often think that we need to tell our readers what to feel when they meet our characters. Something like, "He wore a sour grin of anger" or "She laughed sadly" or "They were confused by his question." Is that always a wrong or bad move? No. However, it's often not the strongest move we can make.

This principle applies whether we're writing fiction or nonfiction. When we want to communicate an emotion to our readers—and especially if we want to inspire an emotion in our readers—the most effective way to do so is by describing action.

For one, most people do not like to be told what they should feel.

Moreover, if I tell my reader how they're supposed to feel or what a character is feeling, I instantly suck the dramatic tension out of my story. At best, I'm robbing my reader of a chance to truly experience my story: I've put them at ease and made them feel comfortable, like a parent assuring their three-year-old that the bad guy in the Disney movie isn't real. At worst, I'm giving them a solid reason to stop reading.

Of course, it's easier to see and describe this principle than it is to put it in action. Unless you're a Charles Bukowski, you have no desire to make your readers uncomfortable or put them on edge. It takes a lot of discipline to write in a way that invites the reader to feel for themselves. And yet, the payoff is worth it—for you just as much as for them.

Keep your stick on the ice.

Frank.