The Value of Scenes
The Value of Scenes
Do you ever read your work and skip parts? If so, you probably assume it's because you already know them well and don't need to read them again. But skipping over parts of your work is actually a serious warning of lifeless, dull, poor writing. I've learned that I'm usually skipping over stuff because it bores me or, at the minimum, is not exciting enough to hold my interest for a second read. I now accept that as a signal to stop and focus on that section instead of moving on to something more interesting.
It's tough to do, though, and takes discipline. After all, you've invested a lot of time in your work and are possibly nearly done with your novel. You're anxious to pronounce it finished and ready to go. But if you're skipping parts in your rereading, chances are that editors, agents and readers are going to do the same. That's not what you want.
At this point I'll admit that I hated getting the following kind of feedback from my agent or an editor: "It drags in the middle of Chapter X because there's too much information given in a static chunk. Consider writing it as a scene." Like you, all I wanted to hear from them was, "Great job, I love it." But when I read the section critically, I always agreed.
Often the problem is as simple as too much narrative/exposition (which are closely enough related that I won't differentiate here), which means there is not enough action. The easiest ways to get more action are by adding dialogue (which, if done correctly, is always more fun to read) and by making a scene out of part or all of the dull material.
Converting exposition/narrative to a scene makes a big difference in the pleasure of reading a work. I lost all my revised manuscripts with my boat last year so cannot give you real examples from my books, but I'll make something up to show how much more exciting a scene can be. Rather than my writing pages here, just assume what follows is in the middle of a couple of similar pages describing Taz and Sam in Havana.
Taz and Sam walked the narrow street that cleaved Havana's slums in two, relegating the poor to the left and consigning the impoverished to the tragic right. But neither man felt resentment from those on the stoops or balconies, no jealous looks and no threats. In fact, if Taz had to make the call, he would have said the Cubans were amused and a little impressed that two Americans of obvious wealth were passing through their barrio.
Sam pulled out his shirt and messed his own hair as he waited for Taz to point out the building where he would meet Isabelle later. He knew it was one of the few fully renovated hotels in the city, but there were none around, so why were they here? He knew Taz had a plan, though, because Taz always had a plan.
Okay, that's just something quick that I'd take the time to make better in a book. It's not really long enough to get boring, but it's already dragging, so just imagine another page or two of it. Now let's stick a scene in the middle of those two pages:
"Overdressed," Sam said, as he tugged out his shirt and messed up his hair, "to answer the question I know you're wondering. That's how I feel, like I'm some kind of jerk flaunting my wealth at these tragically poor people."
"I'm impressed they seem so happy. And I don't feel threatened."
"They probably think we're crazy, and crazy people always get a wide berth, even in Havana. Can't we do something for them, Taz? These people over here," he nodded at the decaying building on the left, any trace of paint long gone, "have to be struggling, and no one should ever have to live in that building on the right."
"You are Americans," a young man said as he ran up. "Lost?"
"Curious."
"We're looking – well, he's looking for a renovated hotel with a cafe on top. I'm just tagging along."
"Then can I also be…tagging along? Is that how to say that? I'll take you to your hotel while I practice my English."
Again, that's just a quick first draft, but don't you agree that it's more interesting? And you'll notice that I changed it a little, which is fun because it's now a scene and therefore opens me up to new opportunities.
It's important here, as in all your writing, to free yourself and not be a slave to what you've already written. So as I wrote that scene the kid popped into my head. Now, if I were really writing this book, he would be a minor (or perhaps even become a major) character I could use to help find Isabelle, arrange a purchase, or even help in a rescue later in the story. Yet I hadn't even planned on having a kid come up when I started writing that bit. That's one of the gifts of writing scenes.
One last thing: Novels are getting shorter, it seems, as predictions come true about our quicker processing of information due to the internet. ">Ken Follett will write lots of beautiful pages about the designs of the booths at a medieval fair, and many readers will always appreciate the detail. But my guess is that the future will add exigency to the old advice that everything should contribute to the story and move it powerfully forward. My novels are certainly getting shorter as I learn to tell a faster story, but as long as everything really contributes to moving the story forward, you're fine.
Dick Marek, the editor/publisher who acquired " ">Silence of the Lambs" as well as the first eight novels by ">Robert Ludlum, told me over a pleasant lunch at the Waldorf-Astoria's Bull and Bear Pub that, "A story should only be as long as it takes to tell it well. Not one word longer."
That's good advice, but you must pay careful attention to the last word. Telling a story is one thing; telling it well quite another. Make sure everything fuels and moves the story. Often, you'll know if a flat bit needs to be cut by writing it as a scene. If it still falls flat (fails to propel the story forward), then you probably don't need it.
Final note (that I hesitate to add): Some novels, like Follett's, perhaps, succeed precisely because of the long narrative/exposition. So if you're writing one of those, much of this advice might not apply. However, I add this note with caution because you'll already have a tendency to assume your work is fine, just like I do, and now I've given you a way to avoid rewriting but simply saying, "My novel is one of those! I don't need to worry about the sections I don't even reread myself. The reader will love them, I bet."
Good writing…Wes
