Twook00
Sage
What are your thoughts on slowing down the narrative and zooming in on the world? How do you know if you're going too slow and boring the reader?
When it comes to pacing, I have a tendency to rush through descriptive passages, dialogue, and entire scenes. Instead of zooming in on my world, I take a step back. Instead of honing my focus, I blur the lens. Instead of hitting the brakes, I stomp on the gas pedal.
I suspect there are three reasons why I do this.
1. A lack of confidence - In a way, it takes some guts to slow things down and narrow the scope. Slowing down is like yanking your reader's leash. Like saying, "Hey, I know you want to go to the park and play frisbee, but look at this catapillar I found. See how it crawls? See how the tips of its little hairs shimmer in the summer sun?"
Zooming in is like stripping your work down to its skivvies and shooing it onstage under a spotlight before a gawking audience. If your work is pretty, perhaps they'll enjoy it. If not, well, look out for tomatos.
2. Laziness - Honestly, it takes WORK to do this kind of thing. It's so easy to say "Twook saw a caterpillar on a leaf, smiled, and bustled on." I wrote that sentence in three seconds! But to write something like, "As Twook walked, something in a bush caught his eye. He jerked on Reader's leash and stopped. Reader looked up at him, her furry brows cinched up in confusion. Twook pointed, 'One second, Reader. I saw something.' Twook bent over the bush, peering into its foilage. It was a small caterpiller munching a leaf."
THAT took a while. And I didn't even bother editing it (sorry). It also took brain power. I had to stop and think, analyze, make decisions. At 10 pm -- when I usually sit down to write -- I hate thinking and analyzing and making decisions. I just want to get things done in the easiest way possible.
3. I don't know when to do it - I think this speaks for itself. It's hard to know when something is worth slowing things down. It's hard to know if what you are focusing on is of any interest at all to the reader, or if your description of it even makes sense. I imagine this is one of those "learn as you go" kind of things. I sure hope so.
Okay, so this is getting bigger than I meant it to, but I've already wrote all these words so I might as well finish. I wanted to share a few examples with you from works where I feel pacing was done right. In each of these, time slows down and plot grinds to a halt, but it doesn't matter because the writing is good enough to hold a reader's attention (well, mine anyway).
From THE BLADE ITSELF by Joe Abercrombie:
From THE TWELVE-FINGERED BOY by John Horner Jacobs:
When it comes to pacing, I have a tendency to rush through descriptive passages, dialogue, and entire scenes. Instead of zooming in on my world, I take a step back. Instead of honing my focus, I blur the lens. Instead of hitting the brakes, I stomp on the gas pedal.
I suspect there are three reasons why I do this.
1. A lack of confidence - In a way, it takes some guts to slow things down and narrow the scope. Slowing down is like yanking your reader's leash. Like saying, "Hey, I know you want to go to the park and play frisbee, but look at this catapillar I found. See how it crawls? See how the tips of its little hairs shimmer in the summer sun?"
Zooming in is like stripping your work down to its skivvies and shooing it onstage under a spotlight before a gawking audience. If your work is pretty, perhaps they'll enjoy it. If not, well, look out for tomatos.
2. Laziness - Honestly, it takes WORK to do this kind of thing. It's so easy to say "Twook saw a caterpillar on a leaf, smiled, and bustled on." I wrote that sentence in three seconds! But to write something like, "As Twook walked, something in a bush caught his eye. He jerked on Reader's leash and stopped. Reader looked up at him, her furry brows cinched up in confusion. Twook pointed, 'One second, Reader. I saw something.' Twook bent over the bush, peering into its foilage. It was a small caterpiller munching a leaf."
THAT took a while. And I didn't even bother editing it (sorry). It also took brain power. I had to stop and think, analyze, make decisions. At 10 pm -- when I usually sit down to write -- I hate thinking and analyzing and making decisions. I just want to get things done in the easiest way possible.
3. I don't know when to do it - I think this speaks for itself. It's hard to know when something is worth slowing things down. It's hard to know if what you are focusing on is of any interest at all to the reader, or if your description of it even makes sense. I imagine this is one of those "learn as you go" kind of things. I sure hope so.
Okay, so this is getting bigger than I meant it to, but I've already wrote all these words so I might as well finish. I wanted to share a few examples with you from works where I feel pacing was done right. In each of these, time slows down and plot grinds to a halt, but it doesn't matter because the writing is good enough to hold a reader's attention (well, mine anyway).
From THE BLADE ITSELF by Joe Abercrombie:
Logen scuttled out from the trees, casting about on the ground. His boots were still there where he'd left them. He snatched them up and dragged them on to his freezing feet, hopping around, almost slipping in his haste. His coat was there too, wedged under the log, battered and scarred from ten years of weather and war, torn and stitched back together, missing half a sleeve. His pack was lying shapeless in the brush nearby, its contents strewn out down the slope. He crouched, breathless, throwing it all back inside. A length of rope, his old clay pipe, some strips of dried meat, needle and twine, a dented flask with some liquor still sloshing inside. All good. All useful.
From THE TWELVE-FINGERED BOY by John Horner Jacobs:
He's standing by the water fountain, picking his nose with the pad of his thumb. Not really digging into the nostril, just kind of brushing it the way adults do. They like to think it's not really picking your nose if you don't user your index finger. It is, actually. Assistance Warden Horace Booth stops, peeks at his thumb, and flicks his fingers like he had crumbs on them instead of boogs.
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