Flashbacks in fiction are one of those gizmos in your utility drawer that can give you grief. It’s like Gorilla Glue or razor blades. Sometimes you need them, but try duct tape or scissors first! I’m reminded of the time I bought six expensive cushions for my outdoor table set and tried to take the manufacturer’s tags off them with a razor blade. Cushions got slashed, but by God, there wasn’t that little strip of paper in the seam! Flashback defined. Flashbacks bring on stage

I’m tilting at windmills here. I’m against chapters. I know you love ’em. Thus the tilting. Eventually we’ve got to make up tidy little chapters. But I’m against forming them too soon. For me, the experience of writing a novel is a close-up encounter with packets of drama: scenes. Those of you who’ve been following this blog have heard me preach about writing in scenes. (Actions taking place in a specific time and place.) It helps you sustain narrative drive and reader intere

Pacing errors can kill your story. Repetitive, low-tension paragraphs and scenes will get you more rejections than any other writing lapse. Pacing is the speed at which you tell your story. How quickly are you forwarding and deepening the plot? Is it too fast, appearing rushed? Too slow, losing the reader’s interest? Usually the problem is the latter: set-up paragraphs at the start of scenes, pointless scenes flailing at character development or background, too many words, sa

I’ve been thinking about pacing, and what a judgment call this aspect of fiction requires. Repetitive and unnecessary words, paragraphs, and scenes can suck the life out of a story. I tend to write longish and cut back in the rewrite phase. But I also try to forestall poor pacing with some diagnostic questions; see below. Pacing is the speed at which you tell your story. How quickly are you forwarding and deepening the plot? Is it too fast, appearing rushed? Too slow, losing