Welcome to this month’s Craft Chat: BEGINNINGS, MIDDLES AND ENDINGS. This is another big subject. There's no way we can cover everything, so please share your ideas or whatever you've learned that works for you – or doesn't.
As before, the discussion thread will be open for FIVE DAYS from when we post the Chat. Let us know your thoughts and experiences. If you disagree with anything, that’s fine. Tell us why. We love hearing from you. All opinions are welcome and valid additions to our learning. Keep it civil.
Rachel (RK Capps), Galadriel, Ed, Kay (Ancora Imparo)
BEGINNINGS
I’m not going to tell you to start with a bang or go for a slow burn. Some slow-builds are great, some bangs are boring. The success of your beginning depends on a lot more than action. It depends on how good you are at holding your reader.
How do you hold your reader?
VOICE
Character
Emotion
Conflict (or the promise of some)
World
STORY (the promise of one)
This isn’t a breakdown of everything you need throughout a story. This is just about how to weave the beginning. As a reader, this is what I look for:
I want to hear the VOICE of the storyteller
For me, this is one of the most important aspects of storytelling and it’s too often overlooked. No matter what point of view you’re writing in, I have to like the voice telling me the story or I bale. And I want to hear it from your first sentence. Omniscient, 3rd or 1st person point of view, it doesn’t matter. Genre – not important. You can write in any genre or have multiple points of view – just make sure I like every one of them.
I don’t mean I have to like the protagonists / antagonists – make them as loveable or as horrible as you like – I mean I need to like the voice of the story. That’s the tone, vocabulary, syntax, humour/seriousness, competence, confidence, imagery, length of sentences… all these mixed together become the magic of the writing. The magic of voice. This is vital if you want to grab your reader before they’ve even read two sentences. Without a discernible voice your writing is in danger of disappearing into that well-known intergalactic death portal – the AmazonVoid – where tens of millions of other writers are swirling around in a cosmic soup that defies all known laws of physics, because they making no impact whatsoever on readers.
Okay. How do you get voice?
Well, you write. No, I’m not being facetious. Maybe I should put it another way: YOU write. You write what you want, how you want, in the voice you want, with the words you want, in the syntax you feel comfortable with, telling the story you want to tell, creating the characters you love. There is no other you in the known universe (nor in the unknown multiverse). Your voice in unique. Stop trying to be a “writer”, dahling. Be yourself.
Of course you have to remember the market, and the word-count for your genre, and of course you have to do your homework. There’s no way around the hard work. But your voice is already inside you. You don’t have to Google it. You already have your very own unique version. Consider this permission to use it.
I want to meet the main character – and care about them
Right from the beginning I want the mc to be credible. I want them to be complex and come with “human” issues I can relate to. Whether they’re dragon shifters, journalists, priests or ice-cream vendors turned detective, I want them different to other characters I’ve read. I want details (not exposition) that paint this character indelibly onto the canvas of my imagination. I want to learn what they want, what they want, what they really really want; and how they plan to get it. I want to know their purpose. Whatever the mc wants is what helps the reader relate to them. Whatever conflict they face is what keeps the reader interested in reading on.
So, right at the beginning I’d like something to be happening and the (main) character’s reaction to that, because that’s where you can show me as many of the above qualities as possible. If you like a slow-burn beginning, that’s fine. Just don’t give me long descriptions or blow-by-blow character introspection unless there is a very good reason for it and you’re going to follow it with something happening.
This formula is: grab my attention by showing me something (preferably bad) happening to a character and their reaction to it. That shows me their character, so I can decide if I like them enough to read on. One thing that makes me want to read on is to make me care for them.
Best way to make me care is to engage my emotions
Introduce the mc and the problem they face and then show us what they do. Are they having a picnic with a friend on the slopes of a supposedly inactive volcano when a steam-blast erupts and a burst of magma explodes 100 metres in the air? Or are they at home asleep in bed and some black-clad assassin with a machine gun just slipped the catch on the downstairs window?
What do we care? Make me care. Engage my emotions. Show me something shocking, unusual, brave, sad, tragic, funny, unexpected … you know what emotional means. Is there a lovely Labrador beside the bed, eyes open and ears up as soon as that window slides open? It is a seeing-eye guide dog, or a dog for the deaf? Do I care a bit more now?
What does the picnicking mc do? Is it a boyfriend, girlfriend, work colleague? Do they run for the car, leaving behind the friend who’s changing her infant daughter’s nappy? Or do they sensibly grab the bag with the mobile phones in it (showing us they’re smart as well as brave) and help their friend and daughter to escape?
Depends what kind of story you’re telling.
I’d kinda like to see what happens if that friend is left behind with her baby daughter – but survives, and (perhaps much later) goes looking for the person who ran. Why? Because it’s more interesting than them both driving away and going, “Phew! That was close!”
Whatever you decide, the earlier you engage my emotions the more likely I am to read on. I’m more likely to be emotionally engaged if the stakes are higher for the character, the conflict is more acute, the problem is bigger and the solution is less obvious right from the beginning. I’m more emotionally engaged in wanting the problem to be solved. More emotionally engaged in wanting justice for that poor woman whose “friend” deserted her. Damn right I want to read on to see what happens. How did she get out of there without a car? Was the baby all right? What happened to that low-down sob “friend” anyway? Boy, did they have it coming… or did they?
It’s your story. Twist it as you see fit. But make me care.
I’d also like to see the woman in bed to be waiting for that assassin with her own, individual set of weapons. Because, you know, she’s deaf, not stupid. (And we need more diversity in our books anyway.) She's anything but helpless. Besides, she was expecting him...
Another way to make me want to read on is to introduce conflict early
Conflict is at the heart of character just as it is of plot.
Right from the beginning, I’d like to know what problems/conflicts/trouble the mc faces or may face and what world they inhabit (contemporary, religious, romantic, sci-fi, fantasy, mystery, thriller…). I’m also looking for hints, indicators, signals of what this story is about, what I can expect from it (is it light, dark, funny, tragic…), what the ride will be like (adventurous, romantic, fantastic, horrific) and will I like it (is the authorial voice strong enough to hold me). Call these hints what you will. Sanderson, in the great link Rachel has provided, calls them promises. Whatever you call them, I think you need to weave them into the beginning of your story.
Conflict helps strengthen the weave because you can use it to show character, progress the plot, hint at bigger problems and mysteries to come, and engage the reader’s emotions.
You can make it as little or as big a conflict as you want but if your beginning doesn’t at least hint at it, you risk losing your reader at page one.
Most of us know about the save-the-cat routine many writers swear by, making your mc do something kind for someone / something as close to the beginning as you can, which shows us what a great person they are before you start throwing house-sized rocks at them. Well, that’s okay. Be subtle. Take care you don’t end up with a kind of painting-by-numbers type of story, where you’ve inserted all the different techniques you’re read about, but have forgotten to tell us a great story. Because that’s the next thing I’m looking for as a reader…
I want to know what WORLD I’m in and I want at least the hint of a great STORY to come
From your first paragraphs, let your reader know what is going on, who it’s happening to and, if possible, where it’s happening. You need to ground us in character, place and situation (unless the character is in trouble and can’t see where they are – which adds suspense / conflict). We don’t need epic world building here. Be economic. Your cover and blurb will tell the readers a lot of what they can expect from your book. You don’t have to explain it all again on page one. But I will need to be grounded somewhere, whether I’m in the contemporary world, a zombie apocalypse in 1930’s New York, Henry III’s medieval England or planet Zog.
At the beginning, give us splashes of detail rather than a flood of description. Drip feed the exposition later. Hone everything. Hint at what we can expect, hint at mystery, hint at magic and do it with confidence so the reader feels in safe hands and wants to read on. Sometimes all we need is The second engine blew at 11.48 am, when the plane was halfway across the Sahara desert, and we can imagine in the scene. We don’t need a blow-by-blow account of what the sand dunes look like. Leave that till the survivors are trudging across them.
Like voice, story is vital. If a writer is waffling on page one, I figure they’ll still be waffling on page 101 and I’m out of there. Waffle kills beginnings. Waffle kills pace. Waffle kills stories and loses readers. From the very beginning, please remember you’re telling me a story. Show me that this scene and this character are leading somewhere exciting / funny / tragic / mysterious – whatever – but somewhere I want to go. If the voice is strong, the character is real, the danger is “clear and present”, the world is interesting and I care, I’ll keep turning the page because I want to read this story.
For me, voice and story are paramount, but we can’t discount character, conflict, world or emotional engagement. Take just one thread away and the weave is too loose and you risk a hole in the cloth, right at the beginning of your work. You can add tension, suspense, mystery, humour, romance: lots of other threads, depending on the kind of cloth you want to create. But from the very beginning, put the right threads in the right place and keep the weave firm.
In general
If you’re serious about earning a living writing, study your market. Read lots of first pages, first chapters. Analyse what made them work – or not. Did the character instantly feel real and relatable? How did the writer achieve that? What words did they use on the page that created a particular characteristic or image in your mind? What words made you connect with that character? Study the best-sellers, literary and popular. Did the instant action work? Did the slow burn work? Do you think the prologue was necessary? Was there a sound reason for it being there or was the writer just too sloppy to write chronologically or filter in necessary exposition appropriately? You study, you decide. You learn.
By all means read the classics. But don’t forget your audience is not 19th- or even 20th-century readers. That said, those books have withstood the test of time for a reason, so don’t dismiss them. Want to learn how to make readers laugh out loud one moment and choke on tears the next? The Call of the Wild, White Fang and Other Stories by Jack London. Damn near perfect.
If you’re writing for children, the rules are a little different. Slow-burn tends not to work. Start with action and strong characters. Kids won’t give you the benefit of the doubt and “see if it improves by chapter two”. They’ll dump your book like toxic waste and move on to something that gives them great action, great characters and great story. From paragraph one.
Ancora Imparo
MIDDLES
As readers, we’ve all groaned over saggy or meandering middles, flicked past boring pages or put a book down, even thrown it against a wall.
But spare a thought for our fellow authors; writing an effective middle is not an effortless task. So, how could we avoid unhappy readers? Can we transform the sagging washing line of our middle into an organised structure of scenes which joins our opening to our ending? There are many tools available and a wealth of information, so I invite you to mention what I haven’t covered below.
First things first. Let me reiterate, no way is the right way (how long is a piece of string?), but using some of the below methods could resuscitate a saggy middle:
Beats
What is this? A beat is a unit of story. Beats inject structure. Beats inject emotion. Beats thrust your protag forward, and we all want that kind of momentum because momentum equals a reader turning pages. The most common beats of the middle include:
Break into 2 (when your protag enters the new world)
B story (the intro of a character like the love interest)
Fun and games (or the promise of the premise)
Midpoint (the moment everything changes)
Bad guys close in (this can be internal too)
All is lost (or the black moment – the lowest moment of the novel)
Dark night of the soul (a moment where the protag processes everything so far)
If you want more structure, then beats are one method to consider.
Resources:
Amazon product ASIN 0399579745
“Look in the mirror” moment
At the midpoint, your protagonist looks inside themselves. If your story is character driven, they’ll ask ‘what am I becoming?’ Think Gone with the Wind. Scarlett realises what is important to her:
“as God is my witness they're are not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when its all over, I'll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill, as God is my witness I'll never be hungry again (if she saves and works Tara)”
If your story is plot driven, it might be the discovery of new information or considering what he is up against. Think Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. In the book, at 50% on the kindle, Harry realizes everything at Hogwarts is not as it seems and new information is discovered:
“But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something … What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide – except perhaps Hogwarts.
It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was (new information).”
Rowling, J.K.. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Book 1) (p. 162). Pottermore Limited. Kindle Edition.
Resources:
Understanding the Mirror Moment
Amazon product ASIN B00IMIXI6U
Pinch points
Pinch points refresh the reader’s mind; an antagonist exists.
The reader needs a reminder of the danger, the stakes and the implication, the unseen monster we know is waiting under the bed.
Brooks, Larry. Story Engineering (p. 199). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
There are two of these. One happens between the Break into 2 and the Midpoint. The second happens between the Midpoint and Dark Night of the Soul. They only need to be quick, but the reader must experience the moment:
The simpler and more direct it is, the more effective it is. If the antagonist roars, let us hear the roar. That’s all a pinch point needs to accomplish.
Brooks, Larry. Story Engineering (p. 201). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
Setup and Payoff
In a setup you make a promise, and the payoff is delivering your promise.
This technique isn’t restricted to the middle, but the middle might see a setup, paid off in Act 3 (like below) or a setup in Act 1, paid off in the middle. These don’t have to be momentous or big. They slip seamlessly into the action and satisfy a reader. A Hunger Games example,
Setup: Chapter 12
It’s late afternoon when I think I’ve found help. I spot a cluster of berry bushes and hurry to strip the fruit, to suck the sweet juices from the skins. But just as I’m holding them to my lips, I get a hard look at them. What I thought were blueberries have a slightly different shape, and when I break one open the insides are bloodred. I don’t recognize these berries, perhaps they are edible, but I’m guessing this is some evil trick on the part of the Gamemakers. Even the plant instructor in the Training Center made a point of telling us to avoid berries unless you were 100 percent sure they weren’t toxic. Something I already knew, but I’m so thirsty it takes her reminder to give me the strength to fling them away.
Collins, Suzanne. The Hunger Games Trilogy (p. 142). Scholastic Press. Kindle Edition.
Payoff: Chapter 25
“Trust me,” I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. “On the count of three?”
Collins, Suzanne. The Hunger Games Trilogy (p. 288). Scholastic Press. Kindle Edition.
Resources:
At 25:30 – the Brandon way-
Rachel Capps
ENDINGS
The one thing I believe a story’s end must do, is deliver an emotionally loaded whoomph that lands somewhere between the reader’s heart and solar plexus. With a simultaneous outbreath and closing of the book, the end stirs a longing to stay with the characters; to wonder what might happen next, if the story continued. Can the end evoke tears? Even better, I say. If the reader feels like they’re losing a friend at the end - nay, bereft! – then the writer has closed their tale well.
In a Nutshell, before we crack it . . .
The closing paragraphs and even the final sentence should convey the essence of the story’s theme. For example: has good triumphed over evil? Is a mother’s love the most important love? Can a broken heart be mended?
As a writer, your stating of theme propelled your opening; you wove it deftly throughout your middle, and now you want more than anything to satisfy a reader with something greater than all the novel’s sum parts. And, that requires vocabulary; words that resonate with the power of the novel’s totality; words that you have to choose from the confines of language; words to strike and resonate within your reader.
SPOILER ALERTS as we take in a few examples of how other writers have tackled endings.
What kind of ending? Let me count the ways . . .
Circular: story closure and completion. Characters have changed and developed over the course of the story. Whatever journey they’ve been on has ended; conflicts resolved. The MC may have come full circle, but are themselves changed. Has the MC succeeded in their journey? Or have they been bad and received their just deserts? Perhaps your story has the MC physically return to a place they left, only to discover they’ve out-grown it. He or she has changed but their home has stayed in its old ways. Or, the MC realises comfort lies in their starting blocks.
Here are a couple of examples: Dorothy’s realisation on her return from Oz, that there is no place like home. She’s returned to Kansas changed, appreciating the family and friends she’d thought she’d lost.
“ ‘And oh, Aunt Em! I’m so glad to be home again!’” Baum, L. Frank. The Wizard of Oz. London: Armada, 1975
Tim Pears ends his West Country Trilogy with protagonist Leo (a boy at the beginning) who returns home to his childhood sweetheart after many years and a long journey out.
“‘This is no dream. It is life, my love, our life, and now we shall live it.’”
I say ends, Pears adds an epilogue, which is beautiful and evocative. Leo is an old man, once a skilled horseman. As he turns a wooden bowl on the lathe, he reflects:
“We are like horses, turning in the dust of a river bed on a clear morning, turning in the sand as the mist rolls over the water, hooves prancing, bodies steaming in the morning light, their muscled flanks rippling, revelling in their freedom.”
This ending gave me the sensation I intend in my own endings. It says so much about the novel’s themes.
Pears, Tim. The Redeemed. London: Bloomsbury, 2019
Open-ended: opposite to the above. While main conflicts may be resolved, there remain questions. The reader nevertheless finds satisfaction in the story-world persisting in their imagination as they ponder the ambiguous elements the writer dangles.
In A Black Fox Running there is conflict between black fox, Wulfgar and Scoble, the hunter. It’s resolved in an unexpected way. New adventures for Wulfgar and his love are hinted at.
“The dark dog fox and the red vixen ran shoulder to shoulder over Conies Down to the tor and above the Cowsic River. Mist rose from the valley and dimly at first Vega shone in the east where night waited.”
For me, the sense of place resonates with me because its familiar terrain. Wulfgar had been through so much, and has triumphed. Yet, the fox’s life is a short one, so one wonders and hopes that the rest of it will be a peaceful one.
Carter, Brian. A Black Fox Running. London: J. M. Dent, 1981
Protagonist Daniel, in Elmet ends up in a city that is undisclosed. Has he gone to London or Edinburgh; the reader doesn’t know. Caught up in looking for his sister, he follows women until he realises they’re not her. He’s joined the city’s down and outs. The ending echoes the theme of those who live their lives on the fringes.
“Midges dance among horseflies among thrips. They coalesce to a swirling throng and circle an invisible centre like electrons around a nucleus. A lone bee surfs beneath them and pauses from its journey to be shaded by docks. Pale moths hang loosely in the haze, their wings luminous, then dim, then luminous, as they beat against an inevitable descent.”
The depictions of the insects mirrors the dance of life. Some appear to choose their path, while others seem locked intractably on one. Whichever course taken, death takes all.
Mozley, Fiona. Elmet. London: John Murray, 2017
And many in between: fairy-tale; happy; sad; cliff-hanger; revelatory; genre-expected.
Whichever option you go for, endings must feel right. The reader must feel that this particular ending (even if surprising) is the best, and only one, given how all the previous elements have played out.
The Denouement: In French it means untying, and yet we often view the denouement in tying up the loose ends of story threads and arcs. After the climax, the apex scene, the denouement is the falling action that leads towards the end itself.
Mistakes: The vastly unexpected. A twist and a surprise is fine, but it is not the time or place to chuck in a new story element, villain or character (unless I suppose, it’s part of a trilogy). Too many endings in the denouement that supersede the final one. This can make the closing paragraphs long-winded and boring. Conversely, there is the too abrupt ending; almost as if the writer became suddenly bored or impatient.
Galadriel
As before, the discussion thread will be open for FIVE DAYS from when we post the Chat. Let us know your thoughts and experiences. If you disagree with anything, that’s fine. Tell us why. We love hearing from you. All opinions are welcome and valid additions to our learning. Keep it civil.
Rachel (RK Capps), Galadriel, Ed, Kay (Ancora Imparo)
BEGINNINGS
I’m not going to tell you to start with a bang or go for a slow burn. Some slow-builds are great, some bangs are boring. The success of your beginning depends on a lot more than action. It depends on how good you are at holding your reader.
How do you hold your reader?
VOICE
Character
Emotion
Conflict (or the promise of some)
World
STORY (the promise of one)
This isn’t a breakdown of everything you need throughout a story. This is just about how to weave the beginning. As a reader, this is what I look for:
I want to hear the VOICE of the storyteller
For me, this is one of the most important aspects of storytelling and it’s too often overlooked. No matter what point of view you’re writing in, I have to like the voice telling me the story or I bale. And I want to hear it from your first sentence. Omniscient, 3rd or 1st person point of view, it doesn’t matter. Genre – not important. You can write in any genre or have multiple points of view – just make sure I like every one of them.
I don’t mean I have to like the protagonists / antagonists – make them as loveable or as horrible as you like – I mean I need to like the voice of the story. That’s the tone, vocabulary, syntax, humour/seriousness, competence, confidence, imagery, length of sentences… all these mixed together become the magic of the writing. The magic of voice. This is vital if you want to grab your reader before they’ve even read two sentences. Without a discernible voice your writing is in danger of disappearing into that well-known intergalactic death portal – the AmazonVoid – where tens of millions of other writers are swirling around in a cosmic soup that defies all known laws of physics, because they making no impact whatsoever on readers.
Okay. How do you get voice?
Well, you write. No, I’m not being facetious. Maybe I should put it another way: YOU write. You write what you want, how you want, in the voice you want, with the words you want, in the syntax you feel comfortable with, telling the story you want to tell, creating the characters you love. There is no other you in the known universe (nor in the unknown multiverse). Your voice in unique. Stop trying to be a “writer”, dahling. Be yourself.
Of course you have to remember the market, and the word-count for your genre, and of course you have to do your homework. There’s no way around the hard work. But your voice is already inside you. You don’t have to Google it. You already have your very own unique version. Consider this permission to use it.
I want to meet the main character – and care about them
Right from the beginning I want the mc to be credible. I want them to be complex and come with “human” issues I can relate to. Whether they’re dragon shifters, journalists, priests or ice-cream vendors turned detective, I want them different to other characters I’ve read. I want details (not exposition) that paint this character indelibly onto the canvas of my imagination. I want to learn what they want, what they want, what they really really want; and how they plan to get it. I want to know their purpose. Whatever the mc wants is what helps the reader relate to them. Whatever conflict they face is what keeps the reader interested in reading on.
So, right at the beginning I’d like something to be happening and the (main) character’s reaction to that, because that’s where you can show me as many of the above qualities as possible. If you like a slow-burn beginning, that’s fine. Just don’t give me long descriptions or blow-by-blow character introspection unless there is a very good reason for it and you’re going to follow it with something happening.
This formula is: grab my attention by showing me something (preferably bad) happening to a character and their reaction to it. That shows me their character, so I can decide if I like them enough to read on. One thing that makes me want to read on is to make me care for them.
Best way to make me care is to engage my emotions
Introduce the mc and the problem they face and then show us what they do. Are they having a picnic with a friend on the slopes of a supposedly inactive volcano when a steam-blast erupts and a burst of magma explodes 100 metres in the air? Or are they at home asleep in bed and some black-clad assassin with a machine gun just slipped the catch on the downstairs window?
What do we care? Make me care. Engage my emotions. Show me something shocking, unusual, brave, sad, tragic, funny, unexpected … you know what emotional means. Is there a lovely Labrador beside the bed, eyes open and ears up as soon as that window slides open? It is a seeing-eye guide dog, or a dog for the deaf? Do I care a bit more now?
What does the picnicking mc do? Is it a boyfriend, girlfriend, work colleague? Do they run for the car, leaving behind the friend who’s changing her infant daughter’s nappy? Or do they sensibly grab the bag with the mobile phones in it (showing us they’re smart as well as brave) and help their friend and daughter to escape?
Depends what kind of story you’re telling.
I’d kinda like to see what happens if that friend is left behind with her baby daughter – but survives, and (perhaps much later) goes looking for the person who ran. Why? Because it’s more interesting than them both driving away and going, “Phew! That was close!”
Whatever you decide, the earlier you engage my emotions the more likely I am to read on. I’m more likely to be emotionally engaged if the stakes are higher for the character, the conflict is more acute, the problem is bigger and the solution is less obvious right from the beginning. I’m more emotionally engaged in wanting the problem to be solved. More emotionally engaged in wanting justice for that poor woman whose “friend” deserted her. Damn right I want to read on to see what happens. How did she get out of there without a car? Was the baby all right? What happened to that low-down sob “friend” anyway? Boy, did they have it coming… or did they?
It’s your story. Twist it as you see fit. But make me care.
I’d also like to see the woman in bed to be waiting for that assassin with her own, individual set of weapons. Because, you know, she’s deaf, not stupid. (And we need more diversity in our books anyway.) She's anything but helpless. Besides, she was expecting him...
Another way to make me want to read on is to introduce conflict early
Conflict is at the heart of character just as it is of plot.
Right from the beginning, I’d like to know what problems/conflicts/trouble the mc faces or may face and what world they inhabit (contemporary, religious, romantic, sci-fi, fantasy, mystery, thriller…). I’m also looking for hints, indicators, signals of what this story is about, what I can expect from it (is it light, dark, funny, tragic…), what the ride will be like (adventurous, romantic, fantastic, horrific) and will I like it (is the authorial voice strong enough to hold me). Call these hints what you will. Sanderson, in the great link Rachel has provided, calls them promises. Whatever you call them, I think you need to weave them into the beginning of your story.
Conflict helps strengthen the weave because you can use it to show character, progress the plot, hint at bigger problems and mysteries to come, and engage the reader’s emotions.
You can make it as little or as big a conflict as you want but if your beginning doesn’t at least hint at it, you risk losing your reader at page one.
Most of us know about the save-the-cat routine many writers swear by, making your mc do something kind for someone / something as close to the beginning as you can, which shows us what a great person they are before you start throwing house-sized rocks at them. Well, that’s okay. Be subtle. Take care you don’t end up with a kind of painting-by-numbers type of story, where you’ve inserted all the different techniques you’re read about, but have forgotten to tell us a great story. Because that’s the next thing I’m looking for as a reader…
I want to know what WORLD I’m in and I want at least the hint of a great STORY to come
From your first paragraphs, let your reader know what is going on, who it’s happening to and, if possible, where it’s happening. You need to ground us in character, place and situation (unless the character is in trouble and can’t see where they are – which adds suspense / conflict). We don’t need epic world building here. Be economic. Your cover and blurb will tell the readers a lot of what they can expect from your book. You don’t have to explain it all again on page one. But I will need to be grounded somewhere, whether I’m in the contemporary world, a zombie apocalypse in 1930’s New York, Henry III’s medieval England or planet Zog.
At the beginning, give us splashes of detail rather than a flood of description. Drip feed the exposition later. Hone everything. Hint at what we can expect, hint at mystery, hint at magic and do it with confidence so the reader feels in safe hands and wants to read on. Sometimes all we need is The second engine blew at 11.48 am, when the plane was halfway across the Sahara desert, and we can imagine in the scene. We don’t need a blow-by-blow account of what the sand dunes look like. Leave that till the survivors are trudging across them.
Like voice, story is vital. If a writer is waffling on page one, I figure they’ll still be waffling on page 101 and I’m out of there. Waffle kills beginnings. Waffle kills pace. Waffle kills stories and loses readers. From the very beginning, please remember you’re telling me a story. Show me that this scene and this character are leading somewhere exciting / funny / tragic / mysterious – whatever – but somewhere I want to go. If the voice is strong, the character is real, the danger is “clear and present”, the world is interesting and I care, I’ll keep turning the page because I want to read this story.
For me, voice and story are paramount, but we can’t discount character, conflict, world or emotional engagement. Take just one thread away and the weave is too loose and you risk a hole in the cloth, right at the beginning of your work. You can add tension, suspense, mystery, humour, romance: lots of other threads, depending on the kind of cloth you want to create. But from the very beginning, put the right threads in the right place and keep the weave firm.
In general
If you’re serious about earning a living writing, study your market. Read lots of first pages, first chapters. Analyse what made them work – or not. Did the character instantly feel real and relatable? How did the writer achieve that? What words did they use on the page that created a particular characteristic or image in your mind? What words made you connect with that character? Study the best-sellers, literary and popular. Did the instant action work? Did the slow burn work? Do you think the prologue was necessary? Was there a sound reason for it being there or was the writer just too sloppy to write chronologically or filter in necessary exposition appropriately? You study, you decide. You learn.
By all means read the classics. But don’t forget your audience is not 19th- or even 20th-century readers. That said, those books have withstood the test of time for a reason, so don’t dismiss them. Want to learn how to make readers laugh out loud one moment and choke on tears the next? The Call of the Wild, White Fang and Other Stories by Jack London. Damn near perfect.
If you’re writing for children, the rules are a little different. Slow-burn tends not to work. Start with action and strong characters. Kids won’t give you the benefit of the doubt and “see if it improves by chapter two”. They’ll dump your book like toxic waste and move on to something that gives them great action, great characters and great story. From paragraph one.
Ancora Imparo
MIDDLES
As readers, we’ve all groaned over saggy or meandering middles, flicked past boring pages or put a book down, even thrown it against a wall.
But spare a thought for our fellow authors; writing an effective middle is not an effortless task. So, how could we avoid unhappy readers? Can we transform the sagging washing line of our middle into an organised structure of scenes which joins our opening to our ending? There are many tools available and a wealth of information, so I invite you to mention what I haven’t covered below.
First things first. Let me reiterate, no way is the right way (how long is a piece of string?), but using some of the below methods could resuscitate a saggy middle:
Beats
What is this? A beat is a unit of story. Beats inject structure. Beats inject emotion. Beats thrust your protag forward, and we all want that kind of momentum because momentum equals a reader turning pages. The most common beats of the middle include:
Break into 2 (when your protag enters the new world)
B story (the intro of a character like the love interest)
Fun and games (or the promise of the premise)
Midpoint (the moment everything changes)
Bad guys close in (this can be internal too)
All is lost (or the black moment – the lowest moment of the novel)
Dark night of the soul (a moment where the protag processes everything so far)
If you want more structure, then beats are one method to consider.
Resources:
Amazon product ASIN 0399579745
“Look in the mirror” moment
At the midpoint, your protagonist looks inside themselves. If your story is character driven, they’ll ask ‘what am I becoming?’ Think Gone with the Wind. Scarlett realises what is important to her:
“as God is my witness they're are not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when its all over, I'll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill, as God is my witness I'll never be hungry again (if she saves and works Tara)”
If your story is plot driven, it might be the discovery of new information or considering what he is up against. Think Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. In the book, at 50% on the kindle, Harry realizes everything at Hogwarts is not as it seems and new information is discovered:
“But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something … What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide – except perhaps Hogwarts.
It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was (new information).”
Rowling, J.K.. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Book 1) (p. 162). Pottermore Limited. Kindle Edition.
Resources:
Understanding the Mirror Moment
Amazon product ASIN B00IMIXI6U
Pinch points
Pinch points refresh the reader’s mind; an antagonist exists.
The reader needs a reminder of the danger, the stakes and the implication, the unseen monster we know is waiting under the bed.
Brooks, Larry. Story Engineering (p. 199). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
There are two of these. One happens between the Break into 2 and the Midpoint. The second happens between the Midpoint and Dark Night of the Soul. They only need to be quick, but the reader must experience the moment:
The simpler and more direct it is, the more effective it is. If the antagonist roars, let us hear the roar. That’s all a pinch point needs to accomplish.
Brooks, Larry. Story Engineering (p. 201). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
Setup and Payoff
In a setup you make a promise, and the payoff is delivering your promise.
This technique isn’t restricted to the middle, but the middle might see a setup, paid off in Act 3 (like below) or a setup in Act 1, paid off in the middle. These don’t have to be momentous or big. They slip seamlessly into the action and satisfy a reader. A Hunger Games example,
Setup: Chapter 12
It’s late afternoon when I think I’ve found help. I spot a cluster of berry bushes and hurry to strip the fruit, to suck the sweet juices from the skins. But just as I’m holding them to my lips, I get a hard look at them. What I thought were blueberries have a slightly different shape, and when I break one open the insides are bloodred. I don’t recognize these berries, perhaps they are edible, but I’m guessing this is some evil trick on the part of the Gamemakers. Even the plant instructor in the Training Center made a point of telling us to avoid berries unless you were 100 percent sure they weren’t toxic. Something I already knew, but I’m so thirsty it takes her reminder to give me the strength to fling them away.
Collins, Suzanne. The Hunger Games Trilogy (p. 142). Scholastic Press. Kindle Edition.
Payoff: Chapter 25
“Trust me,” I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. “On the count of three?”
Collins, Suzanne. The Hunger Games Trilogy (p. 288). Scholastic Press. Kindle Edition.
Resources:
At 25:30 – the Brandon way-
Rachel Capps
ENDINGS
The one thing I believe a story’s end must do, is deliver an emotionally loaded whoomph that lands somewhere between the reader’s heart and solar plexus. With a simultaneous outbreath and closing of the book, the end stirs a longing to stay with the characters; to wonder what might happen next, if the story continued. Can the end evoke tears? Even better, I say. If the reader feels like they’re losing a friend at the end - nay, bereft! – then the writer has closed their tale well.
In a Nutshell, before we crack it . . .
The closing paragraphs and even the final sentence should convey the essence of the story’s theme. For example: has good triumphed over evil? Is a mother’s love the most important love? Can a broken heart be mended?
As a writer, your stating of theme propelled your opening; you wove it deftly throughout your middle, and now you want more than anything to satisfy a reader with something greater than all the novel’s sum parts. And, that requires vocabulary; words that resonate with the power of the novel’s totality; words that you have to choose from the confines of language; words to strike and resonate within your reader.
SPOILER ALERTS as we take in a few examples of how other writers have tackled endings.
What kind of ending? Let me count the ways . . .
Circular: story closure and completion. Characters have changed and developed over the course of the story. Whatever journey they’ve been on has ended; conflicts resolved. The MC may have come full circle, but are themselves changed. Has the MC succeeded in their journey? Or have they been bad and received their just deserts? Perhaps your story has the MC physically return to a place they left, only to discover they’ve out-grown it. He or she has changed but their home has stayed in its old ways. Or, the MC realises comfort lies in their starting blocks.
Here are a couple of examples: Dorothy’s realisation on her return from Oz, that there is no place like home. She’s returned to Kansas changed, appreciating the family and friends she’d thought she’d lost.
“ ‘And oh, Aunt Em! I’m so glad to be home again!’” Baum, L. Frank. The Wizard of Oz. London: Armada, 1975
Tim Pears ends his West Country Trilogy with protagonist Leo (a boy at the beginning) who returns home to his childhood sweetheart after many years and a long journey out.
“‘This is no dream. It is life, my love, our life, and now we shall live it.’”
I say ends, Pears adds an epilogue, which is beautiful and evocative. Leo is an old man, once a skilled horseman. As he turns a wooden bowl on the lathe, he reflects:
“We are like horses, turning in the dust of a river bed on a clear morning, turning in the sand as the mist rolls over the water, hooves prancing, bodies steaming in the morning light, their muscled flanks rippling, revelling in their freedom.”
This ending gave me the sensation I intend in my own endings. It says so much about the novel’s themes.
Pears, Tim. The Redeemed. London: Bloomsbury, 2019
Open-ended: opposite to the above. While main conflicts may be resolved, there remain questions. The reader nevertheless finds satisfaction in the story-world persisting in their imagination as they ponder the ambiguous elements the writer dangles.
In A Black Fox Running there is conflict between black fox, Wulfgar and Scoble, the hunter. It’s resolved in an unexpected way. New adventures for Wulfgar and his love are hinted at.
“The dark dog fox and the red vixen ran shoulder to shoulder over Conies Down to the tor and above the Cowsic River. Mist rose from the valley and dimly at first Vega shone in the east where night waited.”
For me, the sense of place resonates with me because its familiar terrain. Wulfgar had been through so much, and has triumphed. Yet, the fox’s life is a short one, so one wonders and hopes that the rest of it will be a peaceful one.
Carter, Brian. A Black Fox Running. London: J. M. Dent, 1981
Protagonist Daniel, in Elmet ends up in a city that is undisclosed. Has he gone to London or Edinburgh; the reader doesn’t know. Caught up in looking for his sister, he follows women until he realises they’re not her. He’s joined the city’s down and outs. The ending echoes the theme of those who live their lives on the fringes.
“Midges dance among horseflies among thrips. They coalesce to a swirling throng and circle an invisible centre like electrons around a nucleus. A lone bee surfs beneath them and pauses from its journey to be shaded by docks. Pale moths hang loosely in the haze, their wings luminous, then dim, then luminous, as they beat against an inevitable descent.”
The depictions of the insects mirrors the dance of life. Some appear to choose their path, while others seem locked intractably on one. Whichever course taken, death takes all.
Mozley, Fiona. Elmet. London: John Murray, 2017
And many in between: fairy-tale; happy; sad; cliff-hanger; revelatory; genre-expected.
Whichever option you go for, endings must feel right. The reader must feel that this particular ending (even if surprising) is the best, and only one, given how all the previous elements have played out.
The Denouement: In French it means untying, and yet we often view the denouement in tying up the loose ends of story threads and arcs. After the climax, the apex scene, the denouement is the falling action that leads towards the end itself.
Mistakes: The vastly unexpected. A twist and a surprise is fine, but it is not the time or place to chuck in a new story element, villain or character (unless I suppose, it’s part of a trilogy). Too many endings in the denouement that supersede the final one. This can make the closing paragraphs long-winded and boring. Conversely, there is the too abrupt ending; almost as if the writer became suddenly bored or impatient.
Galadriel
How to End a Book: 8 Tips for a Rewarding Read | Now Novel
Learn how to end a book well and you'll keep readers coming back to buy your next novel. Read 8 tips for writing better endings.
www.nownovel.com
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