The Art of Paragraphing
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.
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.
