There are so many things that go into a good (or great or classic) book. It’s almost impossible to list them all, because there are as many “rules” to writing as there are writers, and for every rule there’s someone who has smashed it to pieces to create something amazing.
At the end of the day, though, a good story is a good story. I know I’ve found a winner when I forget I’m reading and get sucked into a book without any conscious effort. As someone who enjoys writing, I usually find it impossible to read without analyzing the author’s style, thinking of how I would word something, critiquing the plot…you get the idea. When all of that falls by the wayside and I’m able to dive in headfirst, that’s when I know I’m reading something that truly speaks to me. The irony here, of course, is that those are the books I should be paying the most attention to. The end goal of writing, after all, is to tell the best story I can. All of us have something to learn from others that have worked to master the craft.
One thing that can set a good (or great, or phenomenal) book apart is pacing; that ever-elusive, know-it-when-you-see-it art whose absence might not ruin something completely, but can make it clunky and forgettable. So far, pacing has been one of the most difficult concepts for me to grasp. When I first started writing, nothing ever happened. I got so bogged down in the weeds (but readers will want to know the minutiae of my character’s childhood, I would think) I never actually told a story. It took a rather harsh, but helpful, critique of some of my work to pound into my head that I need to look at my work like a reader, not a writer. I’m going into my story with a preexisting attachment to my characters. Everyone else is not.
By and large, most long-format media seems to handle pacing by following the 3-act structure. Once I learned what it was, I couldn’t unsee it. Nearly every movie and book follows it. Television and shorter works might follow a condensed version, or they might dispense with the first act altogether and jump right into the action. But learning the 3-act structure will help any new writer begin to understand how to structure and pace their novel.
Act 1 is the Setup. Here we are introduced to our protagonist and the story’s premise. We might be thrown right into the action, or we might first dip a toe and ease our way in. Some manage to do both. For example, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone starts with the wondrous aftermath of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named’s defeat. We see wizards celebrating in all their strange, giddy glory with no prior explanation as to who or what they are. Men in mismatched robes and pants stand on corners, shaking hands with bewildered Muggles who know nothing of the war that has been raging in the hidden corners of society.
In the midst of this celebration, three somber people leave a mysteriously scarred baby on his relatives’ doorstep, hoping fate will be kinder to him than it has been so far. When we jump forward ten years in the next chapter we see fate has not, in fact, been kind. Harry Potter sleeps in a cupboard, slaves away for his family’s benefit, and is generally treated like garbage. We get a glimpse of his misery, and also of his gift, when he visits the zoo and rather delightfully traps Dudley in the snake cage. And just when it seems poor Harry can’t endure another minute of his terrible life, we come to…
Act 2, often referred to as the Confrontation. Harry’s comes on his eleventh birthday, when his first Hogwarts letter arrives. After a struggle with his aunt and uncle, who would seemingly rather die than allow any magic into their humdrum lives, he learns he is the son of a witch and a wizard, heir to a magical legacy, and enemy number one of a dark wizard named Lord Voldemort who was said to have died a decade ago. In Act 2, our protagonist will find allies, enemies, and those in between. They will be faced with the obstacles they must overcome. In Harry’s case, he finds his best friends in Ron and Hermione, a sort of crazy uncle in Hagrid, and a mentor in Professor Dumbledore. Enemies arrive, too, in the form of arrogant Draco Malfoy and petty, vindictive Professor Snape, who hates Harry for reasons unknown (side note: these reasons change in Harry’s mind as he grows older, which is one of many marvelous bits of story and character development).
The Confrontation follows Harry’s struggles to fit into this magical world after enduring a decade of abuse and neglect, while also coming to terms with the loss of the parents he never knew and the lies he was told. Add to that a runaway troll, strange beings slithering through the deadly forest, a three-headed dog guarding something called the Philosopher’s Stone that just so happens to grant immortality, and you have a second act chock-full of adventure, mystery, and just plain good storytelling. You also have the setup for…
Act 3, the Resolution. After learning Lord Voldemort is not entirely dead, but is instead attempting to steal the stone and return to life, Harry and his friends engineer a plan to retrieve it. Often in Act 3, the protagonist is faced with difficult choices, real-life consequences, and the reality of their own flaws and shortcomings. In many cases, the main characters use traits they have developed over the course of Acts 1 and 2 to solve the main conflict, which can sometimes seem like a plot device but is generally satisfying. With luck, our hero learns and grows by the end of this act, whether or not they prevail. In Harry’s case, he gains a bit of wisdom, knowledge of the past and present, and confidence in himself and his magical abilities. He also receives a healthy dose of skepticism and fear, as one of the few people in the magical world who understands Lord Voldemort has not entirely disappeared, and is only waiting for a chance to return and continue his campaign of terror.
Act 3 usually wraps up with the denouement, in which events settle down and return to a similar state of affairs as the beginning, though hopefully with enough growth and development to make the rest of the story worthwhile. In Harry’s case, he returns home to his Muggle relatives knowing he’ll be heading back to Hogwarts in just a couple months. He goes with the knowledge of an entire world they can’t ever fully take from him, no matter how hard they try. His fight isn’t over by a long shot, but he has the chance to relax and gather his strength for the next act. In a series, this pause in the action is essential to let readers catch their breath and build anticipation for the next book.
As with anything else, studying and recognizing the subtle art of pacing isn’t enough. A 3-Act structure is much harder to put into practice than to understand. A writer must work out some key elements of their story in order to get it right. Where does the story truly begin? What is the protagonist’s main goal? What prevents them from reaching that goal? What are the stakes? Even when those questions are answered, a good novel must still contain realistic characters, a fleshed-out world with enough detail to let readers intuit the rest for themselves, an interesting enough plot to keep people turning pages, and a hundred other pieces both small and large. Reading a book is easy. Critiquing a book is easy. Writing it is damn hard. In the end, a writer wants to use the fewest possible words to convey their actions and ideas. That seems counter-intuitive, doesn’t it? But in my experience, it’s true.
Being a writer also means knowing how to edit, which takes a ruthless commitment to the novel itself. It’s inevitable that your artistic vision will take a hit. Let’s face it, artistic visions are only the foundation of the house. We still have to design the rooms, build the framework, add enough inner workings to keep things consistent, put in only as much filler as is needed, smooth out the walls and slap the pretty coat of paint on top. Then there are the finishing touches, the shiny fixtures, the patterned curtains, the plush furniture that looks inviting enough to let the reader get comfortable, but not so much they sink into it and can’t move on.
I’ll be honest. I hate hate HATE cutting things out of my writing. It often feels like I’m doing my characters a disservice by taking away their best dialogue or bravest action or flashes of humanity. But if it doesn’t serve the story…well, sorry kid, but it’s gotta go. The more I do it, the easier it becomes. Nine times out of ten, I’m doing it to replace it with something better. And in the end, I hope the finished product will be worth it.
So let’s hear from the other writers or readers out there. What are some examples of great pacing? Some not-so-good examples? Are there any that make you want to pull your hair out and give up reading altogether?
Katia Cole 