Now that you've begun to accept that you're a lazy, plagiarising fanfic writer, let's look at some of the different forms of cliché that you frequently abuse, and how you can identify them -- so you can plainly see that your fiction is merely a string of old, stolen ideas held together with conjunctions.
There are clichéd words: mostly adjectives and adverbs, such as "grizzled" (usually followed by "detective"), pretty much any word that ends in -ly, and the queen of all clichéd words, "quirky". Let me tell you now, everyone is quirky when they think no-one's looking (for example, I find delight in ripping random pages out of books in bookstores). Resorting to using "quirky" to describe a character is a stop writing moment.
There are a couple of easy ways to spot clichéd words in your writing:
- Words that you frequently read in fiction but almost never hear anyone use in everyday speech (Do you know anyone who would appreciate being called "grizzled"?)
- Adjectives/adverbs that appear more than three times in your entire writing output
There are the clichéd phrases: "to all intents and porpoises", "lies, damned lies and goddamn awful fiction", or "people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw clichés". They're often tired similes and metaphors that no longer inspire comparative thought ("a drop in the bucket"). Others are elegant variations: using five words where one would suffice ("in the fullness of time" instead of "eventually"). Still others are little more than punctuation -- think about how many writers use "let's get out of here" because they can't figure out how to end a scene. Even synopses have their own clichés, such as "and then they", "it turns out" and "little did they know".
You can determine quite simply if a particular phrase is a cliché: ask yourself if you've ever read those words in that exact sequence before. If you're not sure, Google it. A few hits might be coincidence, but more than ten and you might as well contact the authors of those pages to form a bad writers' support group.
There are clichéd characters: the bitter ("grizzled") detective with a secret that explains his bitterness and his limp, chasing the preternaturally intelligent serial killer with the absurdly complex and predictable psychopathology who appeared as a minor character on page 50; the self-aware anthropomorphic robot who is fascinated by or yearns to be a chemically-imbalanced talking meat-bag; the school bully with latent homosexuality who winds up as a twice-divorced fry cook; the hooker who inexplicably does something nice for someone without expecting so much as a bag of crack and a shot of penicillin in return; the emotionally disconnected elf (or, indeed, any 'elf'); the young agricultural worker who it is prophesied will rise up to save the kingdom from the tyranny of market forces; or pretty much every supporting character in your fiction that you had to make "quirky".
You probably know who the clichéd characters are in your fiction, because you remember the original stories they come from. You didn't really try to hide the similarity, because although you're ostensibly writing a WWII-era spy thriller, subconsciously you really want people to figure out it's thinly-veiled Star Wars fanfic.
There are clichéd plots and plot elements: that one crucial forensic clue the oafish police overlooked, that the preternaturally observant amateur detective finds on page 87 but only tells you about on page 279; the paradox of travelling back in time just to explain the time-travel paradox to the one smart person in the primitive tribe who conveniently learns to speak English fluently in less than a chapter; the mysterious object imbued with the mysterious power to to remain mysterious, that must be found/rescued/destroyed at any cost but never adequately explained to anyone; and dear God, any story that is driven by, makes reference to, or includes a recipe for, a "prophecy".
How do you find the clichéd plot elements in your writing? That's easy. Look at page one. Or, more likely, page 27, where your plot actually starts.
There are also clichéd writing careers: there's the sophomore slump, where the author spent six years writing their first novel, then the publisher wants a follow-up in eight months; the runaway bestseller, where the author can't think of any story that will live up to the surprise hit of their last novel; the trend chaser, where the writer keeps writing knockoffs of current hits, hoping that the money train will hit their house when it derails; and the all-time number one, the imawriterdammit, which (roughly translated) means the person who claims all the social benefits of being a writer because they once scribbled down an idea for a story combining two clichés they saw on different episodes of The A-Team.
For those who genuinely fear they have been unwittingly infested with clichés, here are some external resources which have selectively quoted the worst parts of your own writing for you:
