The Art of Paragraphing

By Melissa Koslin

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I have read many, many books on writing craft, but I rarely see much about one of the most basic aspects of writing.

Paragraphing.

See what I did there? By making that one word its own paragraph, I called it out. Gave it more attention. Drew your eye to it.

As writers, our main job is to create a world in the reader’s mind, a world and people that seem real to us, so real that we will lose sleep to find out what happens to them. But there are other visual aspects to writing that are not in our imagination. Publishers put a lot of thought into the layout of the book—the font, how the beginning of a chapter is designed, the page headings, etc. And I think we all agree, these literal visual aspects are important. They make the book look and feel professional, and they stay out of the way—if they bring too much attention to themselves, they’ve been done wrong. Paragraphing is similar in that it’s not often noticed consciously by the reader. But it does have a subconscious affect.

Ever flip through a book, see huge blocks of text, and put it back on the shelf? Those books feel heavy, feel like they’ll be a slog to get through. Not exactly how writers want their fiction stories to be perceived.

Know why people are attracted to dialogue in books? Why it makes it feel like a faster pace? Part of that is due to paragraphing. Most conversation is a sentence or two, or even a single word, back and forth between two or more characters, and each time a different character talks, it’s a new paragraph. Of course, there are some books where it’s more of a soliloquy than a conversation—this is dialogue gone bad. No one wants to listen to a speech. Pretty much ever. 

You can accomplish this feeling of a faster pace without dialogue, if done properly. This is especially true in action scenes. I’m a suspense writer, with a focus on fight scenes, so I write a lot of action. Here’s an excerpt from my upcoming book The Lost Library. Notice how short the paragraphs are and how it creates a sense of quickened pace and intensity.

“I don’t think so.” She backed away, keeping her gaze on him and peripherally watching everything else around her.

He lunged and grabbed her bag.

Cali glared. “Back off.”

He yanked at her bag, but she had it slung across her body—exactly for this type of circumstance. As he yanked, he pulled her off balance, but she took a step and strengthened her stance, all while continuing to glare at him.

He raised a hand to slap her, but she blocked. Then she used both hands to shove him away.

A curse slurred from his lips.

He shifted, and she thought he was going to leave, but he came at her.

She blocked a punch and threw a kick at his groin. But she didn’t quite connect the kick—his legs were too close together.

As she was pulling her leg back to the ground, he swung his fist again. This time, it connected with her cheek.

Rage filled her like boiling water. She attacked with an elbow across his chin. And then the other elbow, and a kick to the groin. This time, her foot connected.

He stumbled back and fell.

She ran.

She felt guilty for not calling the police and pressing charges, making sure he didn’t try mugging someone else. But she couldn’t take the risk. Invisibility was her best defense.

However, paragraphing needs to be appropriate for the scene. Let’s say the characters are having a deep conversation. In these circumstances, longer paragraphs are often called for. Though we can’t let them get too long, or it starts to feel like boring blathering. What I like to do is throw in an occasional one-word paragraph, or maybe a short phrase. This draws attention and intensifies that one word. Even more so than in fight scenes because that one word is juxtaposed by longer paragraphs. Of course, we can’t randomly do this, so we need to keep an eye out for opportunities that feel organic, that intensify the emotion.

As writers, we have many tools at our disposal to make the reader see what we want them to see and feel what we want them to feel, and the best tools are the ones of which the reader isn’t even aware.

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Melissa Koslin is a fourth-degree black belt in and certified instructor of traditional Taekwondo. In her day job as a commercial property manager, she secretly notes personal quirks and funny situations, ready to tweak them into colorful additions for her books. She and Corey, her husband of twenty-five years, and their young daughter live in Yulee, Florida, where they do their best not to melt in the sun. Find more information on her books at MelissaKoslin.com.

The Art of Writing Fast (Part III)

By Chrissy Hicks

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This is the last article of my three-part series on the Art of Writing Fast. Previously, we discussed what is fast-writing, and why you ought to consider trying this technique. Then we dove into the “how” behind this method. Without further ado, I introduce to you <insert drum roll here> the WHEN and WHERE to fast writing. 

When to Fast Write

If you’ve skimmed over the first two parts to the series, you’ll likely see a pattern of what you need to fast write: time, dedication, and practice. So, when do you dedicate the time to practice? 

First, let’s define dedication in the context of skill improvement. Think of any talented person you know or have seen perform, whether in sports, theater, music, etc. Nobody sits at a piano for the first piece and cranks out Beethoven. Nobody takes to the baseball field swinging a bat for the first time and scores home runs. Nobody steps onto a stage without having any background knowledge in theater, performs the role of Juliet, and wins an Oscar. Nobody slips into running shoes without ever having hit the track and breaks the ribbon at the end of a marathon. And neither will you pen your first draft and receive offers from the Big 5 (Big 4?) Publishers. 

Start small. Start with the basics. Learn your craft. Not sure how close you are? Find beta readers who will give you honest feedback. Submit some short stories or an excerpt from your book to magazines or contests. Do your readers feel it’s well-polished? Are you finding some publishing success or making the list of winners (no matter whether it’s finalist or honorable mention or top winner)? If you’re seeing a pattern of interest and mostly positive feedback, then your work is ready. Till then, keep working at it. 

And by the way, the learning never stops. Even writers who “made it” will continue reading in their genre and studying their craft. There’s always room for improvement. It’s the writers that understand the importance of commitment and persistence that become authors.

Time management is another key component. Remember when I mentioned scheduling your time in the “how” of fast writing? Well, this will be the area that makes or breaks you. Whether you have a routine where you write at the same time every day, or you write sporadically when you can squeeze it in, finding time and managing it effectively will be your solution to finishing that first draft fast and polishing it to near perfection.

Sample time budget:

Monday

0600-0630 Wake up–make bed/shower

0630-0700 Finish hygiene/ get kids up / ready for school

0700-0830 Breakfast / drop off kids / drive to work

0830-Noon Work

Noon-1245 Lunch break (30 minutes writing time!)

1245-1700 Work

1700-1800 Pick up kids, drive home

1800-1900 Dinner / prep kids for bed

1900-1930 Cleaning

1930-2200 (2.5 hours writing time!)

Even for a busy Monday, we could squeeze in 3 hours of writing time!

Tuesday

0530-0600 Wake up–exercise

0600-0700 Finish hygiene/ get kids up / ready for school

0700-0730 Breakfast (spouse drops off kids)

0730-0800 (30 minutes writing time!)

0800-0830 Commute (listens to writing podcast)

0830-Noon Work

Noon-1245 Lunch break (30 minutes writing time!)

1245-1700 Work

1700-1730 Commute (listens to writing podcast) (spouse picks up kids)

1730 - 1900 Cleaning house / Dinner / prep kids for bed

1900-1930 Cleaning

Let’s say, hypothetically, this was your schedule, and Mondays and Tuesdays were the only days you could write. That’s still 4 hours of writing time! If we use the example of 54 hours of time to complete a rough draft (from the example in Part II of this article), then you’d have a completed draft of approximately 80k words in 13 ½ weeks, that’s roughly 3.5 months! I think most of us could squeeze in a little over 4 hours a week, but either way, determine your “when” for writing time so you can make the most of these sessions.

Deliberate practice + achievable goals and benchmarks = success in completing a first draft fast!

Mindset is Everything

Besides finding the time to write, you need to be in the write mindset (pun intended). Some people find performing a ritual before starting helps them zone in (starting with a song, wearing a certain hat or fingerless gloves). For others, it may be a specific place (i.e., when I sit at my writing desk, my mind is automatically ready to go because I’ve done this so many times before). You may need to try a few things before settling on what works best for you, but whatever you do, find a rhythm and stick with it—at least for the duration of this initial rough draft. You can always change it up later or tweak it for your writing sessions for the next fast draft, but sticking with some sort of rhythm will get you into a solid habit and help your brain connect with the idea that you are ready to write. 

Here are some strategies to get into a rhythm and maintain focus:

• Create a playlist of songs (with or without lyrics) that set the mood of your story

• Create a mood board and/or list of pictures (perhaps a Pinterest page?) of anything that inspires you and your story (settings, characters, plot points, etc.) and keep it handy (print it and post it near your laptop or have the link opened in a tab on your computer)

• Start each session with a few minutes of deep breathing, with your eyes closed, perhaps as part of a short meditation session, and visualize your scene, characters, or setting

• Have a snack or special drink beforehand (perhaps starting with a nutritious breakfast, or the same cup of coffee/flavor of tea will prepare your mind for an intense focused session)

• If the room you write in is also used for something else (a workspace, kitchen, living room) adjust furniture or lighting so it becomes specific for your writing sessions: open or close the shades to dim or brighten the area, move a chair so you face a window…whatever you need to do. Then rearrange everything once you’re done 

• Review what you previously wrote in the last scene as your “start up,” then set a Pomodoro timer and dive in to the next scene

You can use all or none of the above strategies, but whatever you do, find a way to prepare yourself psychologically and physically for a fast-writing session. After some practice, you’ll find it easier to shift from the day-to-day routine into a writing rhythm.

What happens if I lose focus?

Don’t fret too much about this—it happens to everyone. One of the best ways to mitigate distractions is to determine what will most likely disrupt your writing flow ahead of time, and prevent these interruptions in the first place, if at all possible. When this doesn’t work, or you find yourself distracted due to unforeseen circumstances (or perhaps your own chaotic mind), try one or all of the following:

Start where you left off and try again. Take a moment to close your eyes and breathe deeply. Go for a walk. Stretch. Try walking (or jogging) up and down a set of stairs a few times. Get your blood pumping. Find a new playlist. Reset yourself by getting up, leaving the room, then coming back into it with whatever strategy you typically use to start your writing session. 

It’s also okay to take a day off. If you scheduled 3 hours to write on Mondays and barely squeezed in 30 minutes, maybe you’re just having an “off day.” Give yourself grace and remind yourself that today is just today, there’s always tomorrow to try again. Every writer has had these road blocks. Consider it a *write* of passage. 

Where to Fast Write

At this point, you’ve got a decent grasp of fast writing—what it is, why you should do it, how you can do it, when you can accomplish it. Now, let’s talk about where. Where do you set up to write fast?

You might find a cozy nook at your local coffee shop is perfect. Or perhaps you have a setup at home. Consider the following questions when determining where you should best set up for the most efficient writing sessions:

• Do you mind background noise or do you need absolute silence?

• If you don’t mind noise, what types of background sounds are okay: traffic, people, nature, music?

• What kind of lighting do you prefer? Natural outdoor light, overhead light, dim lighting? 

• Are you sensitive to certain temperatures? Do you prefer heat/warmth or cooler weather? Would you need a fan running (to stay cool, for the white noise, or both?)

• What are your preferred seating arrangements? An ergonomic chair at a desk or could you write at a picnic table? Or do you use a standing desk?

• Do you prefer writing at home, in a public space, or elsewhere?

• Are you inspired by certain types of settings, such as cafes, libraries, museums, universities, or parks? Do you prefer urban settings or a quieter spot surrounded by nature?

• Do you have access to a designated writing space, and if so, what amenities does it offer?

• Are you a morning person, or do you prefer writing in the afternoon or evening?

• Do you have a specific time of day when you feel most creative or focused?

• What devices or tools do you use for writing (e.g., laptop, tablet, pen and paper)?

• Are you reliant on specific software or apps for writing, organizing, or editing your work? Do you use speech-to-text and “talk out” your stories?

• Do you have any preferences or requirements regarding internet access or connectivity while writing? Can you use a hotspot on your phone or do you need free internet access? (i.e., through the library or complimentary Wi-Fi from a cafe—though you may be required to purchase a beverage). 

External factors will affect some of this, such as work or family obligations, which may impact your preferred writing time. Your writing routine—and how you balance this around your daily responsibilities—will probably play a role in where you choose to write. You may prefer to write in a peaceful study room of the local library, but if you’re only able to do this on the weekend, and you’re writing during lunch break at work, your only options may be to use the outdoor picnic table where people and passing traffic cause disruptive noises. Consider how you might set yourself up for success, despite the less preferable circumstances: can you bring noise-canceling headphones to work and use them during this time? Maybe you can find a spot far away from people and traffic, or maybe you sit in your car, turning the back seat into a mini writing area? There are a million potential situations that aren’t ideal, and though you can (and should) answer the questions above to learn what your ideal situation is, you’ll also need to learn how to work in less ideal environments. This might mean that your word count for a writing session isn’t as high as normal, but that’s okay! You’re still hacking away at your book, and you’ll wind up with a few sentences or a few hundred words more than you had the day before.

Personally, I’ve written in libraries, my home office (both ideal), my car (less ideal), cafes, picnic tables, in a tent, on a barracks bunk bed, on a commuter train, in an airport, on a plane, during car trips, in a stairwell, late at night in the field by the porta-johns where there was the tiniest internet signal…

When you want to write fast and knock out that draft so you can get to the good stuff (editing and publishing), sometimes you’ve just gotta hunker down and get it done, wherever that may be. (Though, hopefully not in a camp chair by the porta-johns).

To wrap up, I’d like to show you a handful of some of the most prolific authors as of today:

Ryoki Inoue made the Guinness Book of World Records for most prolific writer. To date, he’s written 1,283 books, but he wrote 999 of these in 6 years, equating to approximately 167 books per year!

Robert J. Randisi has had a book published every month since January 1982, in 1984 alone he wrote 27 books in 12 months, authoring just over 650 books (and counting…), which means his output is around 19 books a year.

R.L. Stine, most famously known for his “Goosebumps” series, has written about 450 books since his first novel published in 1986. As of 2001, he was writing installments for five different book series. Starting at 1986, this would equate to approximately 12 books a year.

James Patterson published his first book in 1976 and as of this year has 389 books out, averaging 8 books a year.

Though many of these other authors have since passed, this LIST shows many others who’ve penned hundreds of books (and some have over a thousand to their name). Want to know a secret? THERE IS NO SECRET! You can do the same thing. And why not? Once you get the knack for it, you, too, can have your name listed among the world’s most prolific authors.

I wish you all the best! Now get back to writing!

Motifs for Murder

By Delphine Boswell

No, the title is not a typo, and motifs was not meant to be motives.

If you had asked me, “What is a motif?” twenty-five years ago, I would have had no idea. After earning a master’s degree in Rhetoric and Composition, teaching college and university students, and receiving a Master of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing, I shout out not only the definition but also the importance of motifs in mysteries.

Of course, the definition of a motif, or at least mine, is: a literary device that uses repetition of a key word, phrase, symbol, color, or image to emphasize a subtle meaning. A motif also helps to develop the overall theme of the written work.

In my work in progress, one of my motifs is dead black crows. Some see crows—more than two are called a murder—as a message or prediction of sadness, danger, and even death to come. Further employing crows as a motif also helps to emphasize my overall theme of good versus evil and, more specifically, that even the most righteous can fall from a pedestal of grace into the darkness of sin.

But what exactly is the etymology of the word motif? Interestingly, the origin of the word dates back to the 14th century when the word in Old French meant to “drive,” and in Medieval Latin meant “to move.” Similarly, today, motifs are used to drive or move the theme along.

The use of motifs in mystery novels serve this very purpose, and in fact, Edgar Allan Poe, considered to be the father of detective fiction, used such common motifs as death, fear or terror, and madness in several of his short stories.

In the Sherlock Holmes canon, written by Arthur Conan Doyle, he creates such themes as cunning and cleverness, justice and judgment, and society and class, to name a few. He uses such symbols as Toby the dog to represent devotedness and faithfulness, a coronet as a tool to represent greed and hidden worth, and exotic animals to represent the dark, threatening, and poisonous nature of Dr. Roylott in “The Adventure of the Speckled Band.”

Agatha Christie used a rhyming verse of then there were none, well as dreams and hallucinations, as motifs in her novel “And Then There Were None.”

Motifs can be used in character development. If a character is depressed, the description of her clothes as being heavy and black can convey her mood. If a character is arrogant and haughty, the writer might choose to use the motif of mirrors or the repeated phrase mirror, mirror on the wall. The continual wailing of a baby can foster grief, suffering, and pain. 

Motifs can also be implemented to create a mood. A foreboding tone might use motifs such as heavy drapery, dusty furniture, or squeaky floors. On the other hand, a joyous mood could be represented by gnomes appearing in a sitting room or in a garden. A threatening mood might be depicted by thunderstorms, lightening, and thunder.

Another place to incorporate motif is in setting. Rain might imply treacherous conditions or uncontrollable circumstances. Some motifs to describe an isolated setting are weeds, dead flowers, or a howling coyote. A hospital’s motifs are squeaky oxfords, medicinal smells, or overhead public announcements.

In the above examples of characterization, mood development, or setting creation, you probably noticed that motifs are often examples of sensory language, such as sight, sound, and smell. What categorizes them as motifs is the frequent use of them in a written work.

Another literary term known as a tag also becomes a motif if used often. An example of this is a tapping cane, a pipe’s scent, or a twitching eye. Not only are these words used to describe or to set apart one character from another, but they also could imply nervous habits, anxious traits, or restlessness if used as motifs.

In my opinion, this literary device is often neglected in mystery novels. The importance of red herrings, misdirection, and cliffhangers, for example, are a must, but don’t discount the use of motif to reinforce your theme, add depth and meaning for the reader, and contribute a subtle ambiance to the plot.

You Want Me to Spend Time with You?

By Paula Messina

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We all have different measures for what keep us reading. One of mine is characters I’m willing to live with all the way to the end. The gift of a mystery got me thinking about this. Why do some characters meet my requirement and others fail?

The novel looked promising. The author had won a prestigious award. The main character is an archaeologist. I enjoy books that involve an expertise, especially one I’m not schooled in. Alas, my interest dwindled quickly.

The story is told through the main character’s viewpoint. She is miserable and self-loathing because of her weight. This was not a good sign, but I read on. Soon enough a detective needs her help on a murder case. He comes not with hat in hand. Rather, he’s downright nasty. Not only is the detective as off-putting as the main character, his approach is irrational. The characters have no history together. His unprofessional behavior is inexplicable, even cause for termination. Didn’t he learn at his mother’s knee you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?

Actually, he was terminated. I stopped reading the book.

For me to sustain interest, I don’t demand that the characters be Mother Teresa incarnate or a Nobel Peace Prize winner or even a Boy Scout rescuing abandoned dogs. It’s those one-note grumpy characters I can live without. 

I’m not alone in this. After I closed that book, I read the online reviews. I have plenty of company. The negative reviews essentially said the same thing: I don’t want to waste my time on these characters.

It’s next to impossible to imagine anyone more dislikable than Ebenezer Scrooge. Dickens is emphatic that absolutely everyone avoids him. “Even the blind men’s dogs appeared to know him; and, when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though they said, ‘No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!’”

And yet Scrooge is one of the most enduring and, dare I say, beloved characters in English literature. Ebenezer is proof that flaws are fine. It’s how flaws are presented that makes all the difference. Characters need not be perfect. Indeed, they shouldn’t be.

Dickens pulls the reader into A Christmas Carol by raising questions. Who is Marley and why should we care that he died? Why was Scrooge “his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner.”?

Dickens quickly establishes Scrooge’s wretched personality. No reader would invite Ebenezer over to watch the Super Bowl, at least not until the three Ghosts of Christmas get through with him. Dicken’s delicious descriptions keep us curious about how one being could be so miserable and disliked, but delicious descriptions only satisfy for so long. Dickens could have easily pushed Scrooge into an unbearable, unreadable character.

Yet Ebenezer Scrooge endures. Why?

The answer is simple. Scrooge doesn’t tell the story. An intimate, chatty, gossipy narrator does. If Scrooge told A Christmas Carol, it is highly doubtful even the inestimable Dickens could keep readers turning the pages for one hundred eighty years.

Arthur Conan Doyle and Rex Stout used the same technique for the odd genius Sherlock Holmes and the often belligerent but brilliant Nero Wolfe. We see Holmes and Wolfe through the eyes of their friends, and because Watson and Goodwin find redeeming social value in Sherlock and Wolfe, the reader does as well.

It’s no accident that Dr. John Watson is a cheerful, friendly character, or that Archie Goodwin is only a few IQ points short of Wolfe’s genius. Archie is wittier than Wolfe, likes women, and is a great dancer. Our view of Sherlock and Nero is filtered through these immensely enjoyable narrators, and we’re willing to stick around until the end.

A narrator isn’t the only technique to make an unpleasant character palatable. We often describe our lives in absolute terms. I’ll never be anything than an utter failure. My husband never compliments me. My mother never has a kind word for anyone. There’s a name for this kind of thinking: cognitive distortion.

We humans are not a never-ending one note, miserable or ecstatic. Even in the worst of times, we laugh at a good joke, make goo-goo eyes at an infant, and enjoy the warm sun on our skin. It’s impossible to be miserable all the time, just as it’s impossible to be endlessly upbeat.

Humans experience ups and downs throughout a day, a year, a lifetime. Characters do as well. Good characters are complex. They enjoy life one minute and complain in the next. They lament about their weight, then promise to diet tomorrow.

In the mystery mentioned, a little levity, for example, would have made the character’s self-loathing tolerable. An explanation and an apology would have made the detective’s initial bad impression understandable and relatable. In other words, mitigating circumstances make an unpleasant character more lifelike, but even mitigating circumstances only carry a reader so far. 

Sherlock’s genius makes him impatient with lesser mortals. Wolfe has a dark past that is never explained. It possibly involves a bitter betrayal by a woman. Dickens shows us Scrooge’s descent into a spiritual wasteland through a series of flashbacks while also showing Scrooge’s journey to reclaim his soul. It is those flashbacks that make his redemption on Christmas Eve believable. His goodness was always there to be brought to life. We know in our hearts that Ebenezer Scrooge does become “as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world.”

It’s not flaws that are off-putting. A character without a flaw is malformed. It’s how those flaws and foibles are presented that makes the difference. A main character can be stubborn and uncooperative. Supporting characters can goad the protagonist into a better disposition. Archie Goodwin is a master at this. Introduce a humorless character to a cutup. Dr. Watson on the page isn’t the bumbling Nigel Bruce, but he does lighten Holmes’ intensity. A dour woman populating pages needs to meet a ray of sunshine. Conversely, that main character who insists on imitating Pollyanna is just waiting for someone to burst her bubble.

Contrasts work wonders. Characters bring out different aspects of the main character. Best-selling author Barbara A. Shapiro says different friends bring out different aspects of our personalities.

Think about it. You discuss politics and solve the world’s problems with one friend. You’re a veritable joke machine with another, and a third has you discussing how to grow mushrooms and make kimchi and sauerkraut. Scrooge interacts differently with Bob Cratchit than he does with his nephew Fred. Scrooge moves from disbelief, to insolence, fear, and finally to submission as he travels with each ghost.

This works both ways. No human is always bubbly and positive. Characters aren’t either. What my friend Marilyn says of life is also true of fiction. “If you don’t have a problem now, wait two weeks.”

In the novel I’m writing, Donatello, my main character, is essentially a good guy, but he vents his fury on his parish priest. The priest deserves the drubbing, but Donatello believes it’s a sin to scream at a priest. He screams anyway. Donatello would be a weak character if he ignored the priest’s nastiness.

Donatello’s anger serves another purpose. It displays Donatello’s determination to reclaim his life after an accident robs him of his dream to pitch pro ball. Donatello’s anger says he’s not giving up. No one’s pushing him around, not even his parish priest. This anger intensifies Donatello’s commitment to find his sister’s murderer.

When I pick up something to read, I want to be carried along in a story filled with characters I’d invite to share my life for a while. They can be a pompous Sherlock, a ton of immovable flesh a la Wolfe, or a Scrooge so nasty even dogs avoid him. But I only keep reading if those negative traits are balanced by positive ones. In short, for this reader, how a writer presents his characters is vitally important. 

As for the kvetchers, the malcontents, the one-note nasties, I’d rather not even open the book.

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Paula Messina lives near America’s first public beach. When she isn’t sloshing barefoot through the Atlantic, she’s writing short stories and essays. Her humorous caper, “Which Way New England?” appears in Wolfsbane, Best New England Crime Stories 2023. “Science for the Senses,” an essay, is in issue 7 of Indelible Literary and Arts Journal. You can listen to her reading works in the public domain at librivox.org.