There’s “realism” and then there is “real” writing.

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“Realism” is a genre. Realist authors write about common people in familiar places discussing typical things, regular things. The point is to convey life as honestly and candidly as possible, which creates a kind of intimacy with The Reader.

“Real” writing, as I like to call it, is more so a technique, a set of rules the writer follows to create imagery, which helps The Reader visualize the story, like a mental movie.

I’ll explain these rules in a moment but first, a vignette (to draw from):

Sanpaku Eyes:

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” I say.

“Me too,” says Kels.

“Go ahead,” I say, “we’ll wait here.” I pick up Beau and step to the side of the waiting area. There’s a tv above the host stand. Sunday Night Football is on.

“Oh-kay,” says Kels, “two minutes.” She squeezes our son’s foot before turning around and walking away. I lean against the wall and catch the host smiling at Beau.

“How was your dinner?” she says, leaning in, across her stand. Beau looks at the host and smirks and blinks and then looks away, pressing his cheek into my neck. “Was it yummy?” she says. Beau doesn’t look back. He presses harder.

“He’s being a shy-guy,” I say.

“So cute,” she says.

There’s a man on my right. I’m just noticing him. He’s older than me. Maybe twenty years older? Maybe more? He’s wearing a tuxedo. It’s a casual restaurant, a chain restaurant. He’s very close to me. I can smell him. He smells like cigarettes. I take a step left. The man looks at me.

“Why are you watching football?” he says. He’s monotone.

I look at him. “What?” I say. I can feel a triangle of sadness between my eyebrows.

“Why are you watching football?”

“Why am I watching football?”

“Yes, why are you watching it?”

I look at Beau. He’s looking at the tv. I look back at the man in the tux.

“I dunno,” I say. “Because it’s on? We’re just waiting for Mom.”

“You like the hits, don’t you.”

“I like the hits,” I say, “but not the injuries.”

“Oh,” he says, “I love the injuries. I love the broken bones and torn ligaments,” he says. “And I love watching them bash their brains together over and over again,” he says.

I cock my head and purse my lips and feel my forehead smooth out. “What?” I say. I’m looking at the man now, into his eyes. I can see the whites above his irises.

“Yes,” he’s leaning in now, “oh yes, I love watching people get brain damage.”

In Japan, his eyes have a name: sanpaku.

“I’m sick this way but nobody knows it,” he says. “And I can’t tell anyone.”

“Hey—” I’m walking backwards now. “My kid can hear you,” I say. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t understand,” he’s following me now, moving in step with me now, “I can’t tell anybody.”

“HEY—” I’m in the middle of the waiting area now. “BACK UP—”

“You’ll burn—”

I turn around. Kelsey’s standing there. She repeats herself: “Your turn—” she says. “You still gotta go?”

“No,” I say, “I’m not leaving you with this guy.”

My wife makes a face. “What guy?”

“Real” writing:

It’s efficient and deliberate, intentional and functional. Like copywriting, there is no excess.

I love this technique because it conveys so much with so little. It generates images in your mind’s eye — and with such efficiency, such language economy. This is because the sparseness itself actually gives The Reader opportunities to visualize the scene: it creates “holes” she can fill in with her own imagination, her own experiences, making the writing feel more like a movie or a play than like words on a page.

The rules are simple:

1| Never let The Reader inside the mind of a character:

Notice how Sanpaku Eyes never tells you someone’s thoughts or feelings.

You’re only privy to seeing what people do and hearing what they say, a character’s actions and/or dialogue:

She did this. He said that.

The rest is on you, The Reader, to fill in. This makes the scene more palpable, more real. It works because just as in reality, you can’t see inside someone’s head when you’re speaking with them or observing them. You can only gather context and form opinions from their words and their actions, what they say and what they do.

2| Avoid giving too much information:

Notice how Sanpaku Eyes doesn’t over-describe the setting or the characters.

This is because too much information — too many details, too much specificity — fills in the holes for The Reader, which is counterproductive.

3| Use the present tense:

Notice how Sanpaku Eyes is happening in real-time.

Writing in the present tense can have this effect, like the events are unfolding in front of The Reader, live, as they would on tv or on stage.

Every copywriter should study “real” writing.

Because it reflects what good marketing does: it gives people an opportunity to envision themselves in a situation, to visualize a scenario, good or bad, painful or pleasant.

It’s made my copywriting better, I think.

And it can help yours, too.