In the preface to their recently published writing guide, Writer's Companion, Carlos J Cortés and Renée Miller state, “we set out to compile everything a creative writer needs to write well into a single reference volume.” We are posting “The Nuts & Bolts," the first chapter of the guide, in a series of posts on Open Book.
Check out Carlos and Renée's online writing community, On Fiction Writing, a website that is “dedicated to writers who are serious about improving their craft and helping other writers to do the same.”
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Read Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight and Part Nine of "The Nuts and Bolts."
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STRUCTURE / PARTS (continued)
1.5.5 Chapter
A chapter is like a word, a phrase, a sentence, or a paragraph. It’s a logical division of thought into a grouping with similarity or a binding concept.
In general terms, a chapter may contain a scene, or group of scenes, which perform a specific function within the novel, and it’s built around events that occur and belong together.
Like novels and scenes, chapters need an inner structure consisting of beginning or opening, middle, and end. Like everything else in fiction writing, a chapter should pull its weight and contribute to forwarding the plot. Since a novel is a sequence of steps toward a goal, a chapter should include, at least, one of those steps.
The building blocks of a fiction work are the scenes. Chapters are sections of such work made from the same elements. The number of scenes in a chapter will depend on the portion of the plot the chapter contains.
A chapter consisting of a single scene with different POVs requires breaking into sections for each POV change. The usual way to signal this is by placing a single pound sign (#)1 centered on a line without extra spacing before or after. This practice is not universal and some editors prefer an asterisk (*) or a series of these, also centered on the page. On the formatting sections (pages 405-408) we’ve listed a number of alternatives.
Chapters are important pacing and rhythm elements in a novel. They may confine incidents or interactions and bring them to momentary or permanent resolution. A chapter can bridge two otherwise separated parts of a story and be used as a transition tool. As such, they can contain the event of hours, days, or years.
Each chapter is, or should be, a mini-story which affords benefits to the reader — a sense of progress, of advance through the plot and closure. But chapter divisions also entail costs. After reaching one, the reader may set down the book, interrupt the onward flow, and detach from the story.
Chapter openings, length, inner structure, type of closing, and other technicalities are the most subjective issues in fiction writing, which we will analyze in the next section.
1.5.5.1 Chapter Development
So far we’ve determined that a chapter, with few exceptions, should be a self-contained segment of the plot and leave the reader with a feeling of having completed a stage of the storyline. But, like scenes, chapters have components: openings, length, contents, ends, and sometimes titles. In this section we’ll analyze these capital elements.
- Chapter Titles:
Q. Should we use chapter titles or not?
A. In literature, nothing should ever be done for the hell of it, but backed by solid reasoning.
Q: Does a chapter need a title?
A: It depends whether the title adds value to the chapter or not.
Titles may add two types of value: illustrative and aesthetic.
- Illustrative chapter titles (POV and/or location and/or date and/or time):
We’re reading a novel where the narrative is linear but the action shifts between three different places. Knowing where we are at the start of the chapter is helpful, and no doubt relieves the author of the tedium of setting the scene each time.
Timbuktu
Kampuchea
Berlin
If the plot covers a few days, it may be helpful to open the chapters with the day and perhaps the time:
a. Monday, 06:45
Monday, 6:45 a.m.
The first time notation (a) — twenty-four hour, military time, or astronomical time — is perhaps more apt for action and techno-tales, while the second style is more common for other settings. Historical, fantasy, SF, and other genres demand great care when using time/date titles. Though astronomers and clock makers used the 24-hour notation for a long time, its common use dates only to the 20th century.
In twelve-hour notation (b) we use the abbreviations a.m. (ante-meridian) and p.m. (post-meridian). Typography depends on house style.2 To avoid confusion, the correct designation for 12p.m. is 12 noon or noon and for 12a.m., 12 midnight or midnight.
Some writers use extensive titles, such as Charles Brokaw in The Atlantic Code:
Kom Al-Dikka, Alexandria, Egypt, 16 August 2009
Writers must question everything—a concept we’ll repeat like a mantra throughout this manual. Are there chapters set in other Alexandria locations? Even if the answer is affirmative, is Kom Al-Dikka necessary? We can pose the same question of the other elements in the illustrative title.
Unless the area, region, country, and/or date are capital to understand the chapter or they add something of value to the reading experience, titles are unnecessary. And reminding the reader that Alexandria is in Egypt may cause offence. Yes, we know there’s an Alexandria in Virginia but, to our knowledge, there are no archeological digs or Roman circuses in the vicinity.
Other times, writers may use illustrative titles to set the scene, not just in time, but within a strange world. In doing so it’s possible to append color and atmosphere to the title, thus limiting exposition within the main text.
For example, Donna Johnson’s Spider’s Web: Ties that Bind opens the first chapter with:
Evening of the Joining Sun, Elder Phase of the Sap Moon, Spenara
967th Cignarian Cycle in the reign of Shadal Orna Mandel
Nuya’ama Village
- Aesthetic Chapter Titles (Title or title + epigraph)
When used well, chapter titles can make the reading experience richer, more nuanced, more complex in texture and meaning, or even add subtle ambivalence to the events that follow (or precede) them. A good title can capture a mood in a few words and improve the reading experience.
Conversely, writers may upset readers with titles designed to show off—and in doing so puzzle the reader or imply he or she is an ignoramus.
In The Labyrinth Key, Howard V. Hendrix titles a chapter: “Gödelian love knot”
We wonder how many readers have ever heard of Gödel or his theorem and know enough Elementary Number Theory to even understand the chapter title.
Epigraphs and/or teasers—such as a quote pertinent to the upcoming events—can foreshadow, add layers of structure or satirical counterpoints by reference to other texts, etc.
In Ties that Bind, Donna Johnson titles the last chapter “mother spider wraps her prey.” In the final section of the chapter, just above her complex date notation, she appends a quote from the literature of the world that speaks to theme:
“Every Apprentice meets a Master as the path unfolds. It is the Master who searches for that truth-ready soul, struggles to obtain it, and forges the path ahead that leads to Awareness and then Oneness, while the Apprentice must merely follow. When the Apprentice is ready, the Master will come. These connections, we have learned, are the ties that bind.”—Slvaian Tortean, chapter 3 “Masters”
John Fowles begins each chapter of The French Lieutenant’s Woman, with an epigraph. Chapter One’s example he borrowed from The Riddle by Thomas Hardy:
“Stretching eyes west/Over the sea,/Wind foul or fair,/Always stood she/Prospect impressed;/Solely out there/Did her gaze rest,/Never elsewhere/Seemed charm to be.”
As the chapters progress, it becomes clear that this quotation offers a fair description of the heroine.
But titles can be dangerous. If they give too much away, titles may ruin the reading experience by clueing the reader into what is going to happen.
- Chapter Openings
Chapter openings and closers are critical to make a storyline work. Before analyzing form and content, a writer must never assume a reader will devour a book at one sitting. Instead, hours, days, or weeks may lapse between the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. It’s unreasonable to expect a reader will flick back page after page to determine what’s going on. Hence, establishing the POV is critical, soon followed by an idea of setting to refresh the reader’s memory.
There are no set ways to start a chapter, but there are several things to avoid, or at least, use with care items such as exposition, bland sentences, and repeated subject-verb starts.
He was nearing the end of his one-year tour. He had flatly refused to extend. He loathed the country... (Frederick Forsyth, Avenger)
He awoke in the darkness, shivering and remembering the past. He could feel warmth against his back and,[sic] groaning he rolled over, hand reaching out to stroke soft fur. There was a noise... (Andy Remic, Spiral)
He locked the rest room door. There was an ancient toilet and equally ancient marble sink basin, and it smelled pleasantly of cleaning liquid. He pulled out... (Robert Ludlum, The Sigma Protocol)
These are boring and soon echo. Chapter openings are ideal places to show variety of composition:
Neither her disproportionate response to Melik, nor her frigid response to Brue, were isolated episodes in Annabel’s new existence. (John Le Carre, A Most Wanted Man)
“That nigger going down the street,” said Dr. Hasselbacher standing in the Wonder Bar, “he reminds me of you, Mr. Wormold.” (Graham Greene, Our Man in Havana)
Night fell as the airport taxi rattled along the six miles of coastal road into Beirut. (Thomas Harris, Black Sunday)
Manuel and his wife were poor, and when they first looked for an apartment in Paris, they found only two dark rooms below the street level, giving onto a small stifling courtyard. (Anaïs Nin, Little Birds)
“My hair!” commanded the young officer as he sat before the dressing table in the small vaulted room of the Hotel Fontenoy. (Lajos Zilahy, Century in Scarlet)
Each of these openings, ranging from thriller to historical and erotica genres open chapters with subtle compositions designed to whet the reader’s appetite. After these sentences, the reader shifts buttocks to a comfortable position and settles down to enjoy the writer’s promise of a fine story.
Chapter openings beg design and ingenuity to showcase talent. Dialogue, intriguing atmosphere, sensitive description, or colorful character introductions are but a few of the devices a writer may use to set the tone.
In contrast, check these openings:
Martha flicked through a few channels on the TV and decided she might have a nap before doing the laundry.
The group of men parted and two men attired totally in combat fatigues and sky [sic] masks, their gleaming dark eyes peering out of their wrapped visages, attacked.
Kate opened her eyes and stared fixedly at the ceiling of her room and the fawn molding against the pristine white of the stippled ceiling.
We’ve picked these at random from the scores of first chapters submitted for consideration to a long-suffering agent. Having read these opening lines, no amount of buttock shifting will afford solace to a weary reader.
- Chapter Length
Let’s open by declaring that there’s no rule regarding how long a chapter is supposed to be. Some chapters can be scores of pages long and others just a few, or even contain a single paragraph.
When deciding how long a chapter should be, the writer needs to decide which scene or scenes belong in the chapter. Anything that does not further the story, including information dumps, lengthy scene setting, or unnecessary back story should be deleted.
Is there an exact answer?
No, but a few years back, Writer’s Digest suggested a formula for successful novels of 2,500 to 3,000 words with three to four scenes to a chapter.
If this provokes a frown, we’re thinking like writers. This answer is subjective. Writers craft novels targeting a particular readership (or they should). How long does a reader read? The answers can be as varied as chapter lengths, but intermittent bursts of thirty minutes or so seems to be a good average. And half an hour is what it takes to read a 3,000-word chapter. Of course reading speeds vary, not only between readers but also as a function of the chosen genre; literary fiction demands slower paces. Constructing chapter endings with cliffhangers and unresolved plot points is a writer’s device to coax readers into dedicating another thirty minutes to the novel.
Another reason to determine chapter length is to maximize drama and suspense. Often, we find knowledgeable writers shortening chapters, say to two or three pages, at pivotal areas in the book.
Using this concept, chapters lengthen or shorten according to what manner of scene—or how many scenes — comprise each chapter. A lengthier emotional dialogue chapter, sort of the calm after the tempest, may follow a short action-packed chapter. Short descriptive internal dialogue chapters may follow longer intense chapters. In other words, by varying the flow and pacing of the narrative, the rhythm changes.
Resuming: Books without rhythmic variation, full of too-fast or too-slow chapters, cool the reader’s interest. We need the spice of life; we need variety. Action and climax chapters tend to be shorter than other chapters in the book.
- Chapter Ends
Following from the previous section, the story, action, and characters, not an arbitrary word count, should dictate when a chapter ends.
Chapters should end at the crucial moment and with a question that will not be answered until a later chapter. In other words: a chapter end shouldn’t be an ending.
Inexperienced writers close chapters with the completion of an action, when the trick would be to stop a little shorter. For example, in a scene where the hero climbs up a tree to escape a grizzly, the chapter should end when the branch from where the hero offers a stiff middle finger to the enraged animal breaks with a sickening crunch. To wait until the bear has had his dinner is overkill. If the scene needs the hero crashing down before the grizzly, then the chapter could end when the hero remembers the counsel of a lumberjack and plays dead to fool the animal. Would the bear fall for the ruse or have his dinner anyway?
If a maiden gallops down the stairs — to escape a fate worse than death at the hands of rowdy intruders— the chapter should end when she trips and falls.
The next chapter could then begin with her regaining consciousness and checking she’s in one piece under the solicitous eyes of a debonair police officer who made it to the scene just in time. If this happened in the same chapter, it would give the reader no incentive to read on and find out what happens next. The chapter ends best where the action stops at a crucial point: a “cliffhanger.”
Other chapter-end devices are stunning revelations, interrupted conversations, discoveries, items gone missing, and any unresolved development.
1.5.6 PART
“Part,” “volume,” and “book” are broader divisions of a novel, often crafted from a number of chapters. These impose an even deeper split and greater cost, but imply a much stronger shift in time, place, or viewpoint.
These great story divisions beg self-completeness. Unlike chapters, parts require ends with finality, not unfinished actions or cliffhangers. The reason is the intrinsic role of a “part.” It is intended to signal that a major block of the story is over.
Boris Pasternak’s Dr. Zhivago is split into two parts, Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey into Night into four, Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind into five, Mario Puzo’s The Godfather into nine and Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace into fifteen.
Novels spanning different periods benefit from “part” division. A number of books built around the Holocaust follow the harrowing stories of families through three well-defined moments: before Hitler came to power, during the war, and in the aftermath once the allies won and set out to clean the bilges.
Other internal structures may follow a family saga through different generations or the genesis of a wondrous object.
Large literary works often require even more complex divisional structures. An example that comes to mind is Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. This monumental work is split into twelve books, further arranged into four parts and a three-chapter epilogue.
Of course, part division can also be used for effect as a ticking-clock device. To use this technique well, requires a great deal of ingenuity from the writer. Take the story of a boy who discovers a box containing six pebbles, each engraved with a rune. The novel may be divided into six parts, each opening with one of the runes. If cleverly executed, the effect on the overall novel structure can be rewarding to the reader.
In Jurassic Park, Michael Crichton used such a device. He started with a simple geometric drawing on page nine, a diagram he terms “Iteration One.” Later, on pages 29, 81, 179, 269, 315, and 365, these iterations — seven images that divide the seven sections of the book — grow more complex.
1.5.7 Epilogue
Also called an afterword, the epilogue is a short section following the last chapter that reveals consequences, what happens to the characters after the main story is over.
In certain genres, like romance, epilogues are common. The writer goes on to give additional information about the main characters to satisfy reader’s expectation that they will live happily ever after. Often, the writer shows the protagonist married and with children. In suspense or thriller genres, it can narrate the outcome of previous events or how the villain served twenty years hard labor.
Epilogues aren’t always about the future lives of the characters. Sometimes, they cover days or even follow where the story left. In this sense, epilogues can wrap up story questions that the writer has not answered after completing the main story arc.
Epilogues, like prologues, can be powerful tools to give the story closure, but — there’s always a but in fiction writing — most stories don’t need epilogues.
Like an unnecessary prologue, the epilogue can be a tacked-on tidbit that wouldn’t be necessary if the writer had taken his time to improve the scenes that came before. Often, epilogues don’t deserve the name and consist of explanations of events that happened at the end of the book or unfortunate ruses to tie up plot strings. Also, flip epilogues, or attempts at setting up the next book with cliffhangers should be avoided. Pushing readers into buying the next book may have the opposite effect.
Epilogues can frustrate readers to the point of ruining a good novel. To have an engaging book ruined by a trivial, unbelievable, or lousy epilogue is a tragedy. This is not as unusual as it might first appear. Like writers (most of them, anyway), readers are also human beings. As such, they understand the world in different ways, nurse their own pet peeves, and fantasize about dissimilar outcomes. The writer must analyze the plot and determine if the end is clear, a real end, but with possible alternative continuations.
The story is finished, but we hope some characters have survived. One reader may root for a particular character, or imagine his or her future will follow a given line. To have the hero survive overwhelming odds only to succumb to swine flu six weeks after THE END demands the writer be tied to a stake, forced to read the offending piece aloud, and then shot.
An epilogue can make a book memorable... or ruin it. That a few lines can make or break a story lovingly built to its resolution over hundreds of pages and tens of thousands of words should give a writer pause to determine whether the story needs an epilogue or not.
"The Nuts & Bolts" is an excerpt from Writer's Companion (2011) by Carlos J Cortés and Renée Miller. Reprinted with permission.
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