The Pacing Hack

Revision (Part 1)

Photo by dominik hofbauer on Unsplash

Intro

This is the first in a series of articles about revision, and since there are many multi-layered approaches to the process, I figured it was best to start with high level revisions before working my way down to more granular techniques.

Over the years a lot has been written on the subject of revision, and I plan to pull from many different schools of thought here in the hopes that this series can offer something for everybody. So, as always, take you what you like and leave the rest behind.

What is pacing anyway?

When we talk about pacing, we’re talking about a lot of things: speed, rhythm, tempo. We’re talking sound. This can be the sound of a word, a sentence, a paragraph, a page. But I want to talk about the sound of the work as a whole—that is the musicality of the book.

This musicality is created in a lot of ways. You have a general variance in speed, the rhythmic stops and starts of scenes, the overall length of the chapters. All of this contributes to the reader’s experience in consuming the story.

But for today’s post, I want to focus on one specific aspect of pacing. It’s what I’m referring to as “the pacing hack.” To be clear, I didn’t come up with the idea. It’s inspired by a concept from international best-selling thriller writer, Lee Child. In discussing his creative process he advises writers to “write the slow parts fast and the fast parts slow.”

Now, to be clear, Child is referring to the drafting process here, but I think this can be a very powerful tool to be used as an early pass in the revision stages. So, let’s break this down and zoom in to both parts of this concept to see how we can apply these principles to our own stories.

Slow Parts Fast

This is the perfect place to start because the “slow parts” seem more problematic. But it only begs the question: what are the slow parts of the book? And how do we identify them? Well, for starters, anything without action or movement can be counted as slow. But, more specifically, we are referring to moments of exposition that can sometimes feel boring and mechanical. We’re also referring to moments of interiority, which do not feel boring, but, nevertheless, lack the sort of driving action of a faster scene.

So, how do we use a process like this in revision? Well, let’s start with exposition.

Exposition

Identify the moments in the story where you are just relaying information to the reader. These are our examples of “telling,” which I’m sure you’ve heard never to do. Of course, that’s not entirely accurate. We need “telling” as much as we need “showing” in the novel. The difference is in the amount. We want to limit our “telling” expositional moments. Or, at the very least, we meant to make them as short and condensed as possible.

So, how do we do that?

Skipping

Very rarely do we need a play-by-play account of what is happening in a character’s day, life. Notable exceptions are those stories which are set during a single hour, day, week, etc… But even in those cases, we don’t need everything. So, it’s best to skip around. Skip time, skip activities. Skip ahead to the next moment that is necessary to carry the story to its next essential thread or beat.

Cutting

Sometimes, we just need to trim or prune the words. Maybe the moment needs to be told, but do we really need all the details. Sometimes, we get caught up in the trap of describing the room, the night sky, the outfit of one of the side characters when drafting. And, I would argue that painting the scene in this way is absolutely essential during the drafting stage. However, in the revision stage, we need to return to these sections with a harsher eye. The question becomes, do we need that detail right here? Do we need that detail right now? If the answer is no, let it go.

Interiority

This is the more sophisticated example of a “slow part,” because it feels like anything but. (As a quick aside: I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge the very real notion that there is a slight derogatory connotation in calling something a “slow part.” So, if it rubs against you in the wrong way, I completely understand. To be clear, in this post, “slow” does not mean boring. I’m using it to refer only to the speed at which the reader tends to consume words on the page. )

Writers tend to balk at the concept of having to revise interiority because of how important it feels to the full development of the character. And the idea that interiority is crucial to the character arc is inarguable. In fact, those pieces of interiority often make for some of the most important moments in the story.

So, why mess with them at all then? The truth is, moments of interiority are a lot of fun to write. In the drafting process, writers are discovering the character, and delving into the interiority helps to uncover some important truths. It’s fun to be in the character’s head. It’s fun to learn his or her thoughts and to explore the psychology of everything. And, once again, I’d argue, that exploration is crucial.

However, the fun act of writing interiority can easily veer into self-indulgence. In revision, we have to take a closer look at these sections, and see if we can pinpoint moments where the interiority went too far, where the exploration got a little long winded or reductive. In revision, we’re looking for examples of where we might have too much of a good thing.

What’s the best tool for revising interiority?

Trimming

Interiority tends to be more delicate than exposition so we don’t want to skip it or cut it altogether. Instead, we want to trim it down to the absolute necessities. We need to learn what the character thinks and feels about other characters and the events taking place in the story, but we want to make sure we aren’t pounding the reader over the head with the same ideas and thoughts over and over.

So, it’s a good idea to comb through the interiority and remove anything that seems slightly off topic. It’s also helpful to remove something that we feel is adequately covered in a different moment of interiority occurring earlier or later in the story.

Fast Parts Slow

We all know the fast parts, right? These are those action sequences. The chase scenes, the bank robberies, the arrival of the knife-wielding assassin, etc… These tend to be those high energy, high stakes moments in the book where the reader, as promised, is finally taken on a wild ride. To carry out the analogy of an amusement park, if the “slow parts” are the moments when reader is waiting in line basking in the slow building tension, the “fast parts” are the moments when the reader finally gets on the ride. It’s the strapping in, the instant release, the sudden turns, the unexpected twists. It’s the part of the story where the reader is flying through the pages, where it feels like the characters themselves have come alive and the reader feels suddenly transported. It’s the moment when real life disappears and the story world is all that exists.

I know what you’re thinking. If this works so well, why would we want to slow it down? Well, slowing down the fast parts means zooming in on a particular moment to give it more attention or emphasis.

This zooming in lends a sort of slow motion effect to the scene and helps to build suspense, creating even more tension in the scene. Imagine the slow motion shot of a surfer shooting the gap of a collapsing wave. At regular speed, it’s anticlimactic. In slow motion, that same scene is thrilling, each moment dripping with tension, the viewer watching the surfer inch his way across the gap as the giant wave looms overheard closing in inch by dreaded inch threatening a potential wipeout at any moment.

So contrary to what we may expect, leaning in and slowing down on an already exciting moment actually enhances the scene and adds an extra layer of suspense that would be missing if we allowed things to progress at their normal pace.

So, how do we accomplish this technically?

Zooming In

This is an easy fix. Once we identify the “fast parts,” all we have to do is look for moments where we can enhance the suspense by taking a closer look at the particulars in the scene. So, for instance, this works very well when a character is about to have an emotional breakdown or explosion. Much like the collapsing wave, it’s much more interesting to watch a character meltdown in slow motion than in normal speed.

This also works very well in chase scenes. We don’t want the scene to play out as quickly as it would in real life. We want it to drag out and to last several pages, so we get the real sense that we’re caught up in the events of the story. Of course, the longer we hold our breaths waiting for the end of the scene, the more connected and engaged we feel.

This purposeful slowing down allows the reader to linger in the story’s most gripping moments, which makes for a story that grabs a hold and refuses to release its grip.

The Wrap

The “slow parts fast” and “fast parts slow” approach to revisions is not a one-size-fits-all approach. It will not work for everybody, or even for every genre. And, when it does work, it should not be the only method of revision used on a novel. It is meant to address pacing only and does not fix errors in character or plot (which I’ll talk about in a future post).

One more note: I once heard an editor comment that one of the biggest mistakes writers make in drafting is not paying attention to the difference in pacing between the beginning of the book and the end. Ultimately, the pacing of the book should not be consistent. Rather, there should be a noticeable ramping up of the pacing in the second half. This applies to scenes and chapters, but this should also occur on the sentence level as well.

Regardless of your genre, if you’re in any of the various stages of the revision process, it’s definitely worth your while to do a comprehensive review of pacing to ensure that your book has a nice rhythm and is maximizing on the potential to keep those readers hooked.

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