Free Day #3: Pacing

Today I want to talk about pacing. I am taking today as a Free Day since I didn't use it yesterday.

What is pacing and why use it?

Pacing is like the tempo in a song. It can be fast or slow; energetic or calming. Like music, pacing can help set a unique mood.

Pacing is also like motion blur in a video. I know. I already used that example on Free Day #1
That's fine. In that article, I discussed how the level of detail in a scene can change the reader's focus to those things more fully described. It is also a great tool for setting the pace of a story.

Here's some sample text:

Gus walked up to a box. He punched a hole in the box. It punched him back.

Here are two examples of the same text paced differently using level of detail:

Example 1:

Gus walked down the gravel trail. Evergreens to his left and right swayed in a sudden breeze. The wind blew through his wavy, black hair. It was a refreshing cool gust leftover from an escaping winter season.

Gus stopped in front of an obstacle in his path. It was an ordinary box of ordinary tan coloring. It was a little taller than him and twice as wide. He grumbled to himself. "What is with this box?" He shook his head. "It doesn't even have a label."

As he studied the box, he realized how much it reminded him of his third-cousin. He had met the relative at a family reunion two years ago. Charlie was his name. For some reason, he never did like Charlie. That kid was always in his way.

Gus fumed at the thought of meeting Charlie again. He imagined what his reaction would be if Charlie tried getting in his way again. As he dwelled on that concept, Gus noticed that the box was about Charlie's size. He frowned, imagining his cousin in place of the box. If he was ever given another chance he would punch Charlie right in the face.

It only took a little effort of picturing his obnoxious cousin instead of the box. Gus glared at it and imagined it saying to him in Charlie's annoying voice, 'What are you going to do now, cousin? Here I am, in your way.'

"Oh, I'll show you what I'm going to do." Gus said, gritting his teeth, brow furrowing. Gus pulled his arm back and flexed it. He formed his hand into a tight fist. His knuckles cracked under the strain. Gus could feel his blood begin to boil.

Clenching his abs all at once, Gus took a half step forward and extended his fist at lightning speed. Gus felt his knuckles meet resistance at the surface of the cardboard. At first, it bowed behind the might of his attack. Next, bends began to appear and the box began to fold around his fist. Finally, his fist broke the surface. He saw the little tear peel back into a hole, which peeled back into a larger hole, which grew by the millisecond until his entire fist penetrated the cardboard. The sweet rush of adrenaline made his eyes dilate and he smiled wickedly.

Gus' forearm passed into the box halfway to his elbow before he pulled it back with the recoil. He brought his arm back into position for another strike, then let his arms drop. He smiled and nodded once. The box was done for. That would teach it to never block his path again.

Gus shifted his foot so that he could step around the failed obstacle, but he was interrupted. His head pushed back as his shoulders tried to move forward with the rest of his body. Gus saw a muscular arm extending out of the hole in the box where he had broken in. The arm's hand was a fist, gloved in red and blue material, but the fingers were bare, protruding from the glove. The brightly colored material was in contact with a large section of his face.

Gus blacked out.

Example #2:

Gus approached the obstacle in his path. It was a large cardboard box, standing upright in the middle of the road.

He glared at the box. It reminded him of his obnoxious cousin, Charlie, always in the way.

Gus blinked, seeing Charlie standing there instead of the box. It made his blood boil.

Without hesitation, Gus laid a heavy fist right through the front of the box at eye level.

Before he even had a chance to smirk, a muscular arm sprung through the hole in the box, fist first. It connected with his face.

Gus blacked out.

 In these two examples, we can see how the level of detail determines a lot about how fast the scene plays through. The same thing is happening in each, but one feels like it is happening in slow motion. The other ends after a few seconds, it seems.

A benefit of using high level of detail is that it helps to immerse the reader. This can, unfortunately, also destroy the mood that really needs to exist in this scene. Not only can descriptions immerse readers, but the mood to a scene can as well.

Ever watch a suspenseful movie? How much do you remember of the rooms in which a furious gun fight takes place? A general sense of it, right? Of course you remember the balcony. That's where the bad guy fell from the thirtieth story while the good guy jumped after him, unloaded several well-aimed rounds for good measure and then wing-suit-glided away over a busy city backdrop.

What do you mean you don't recall the room number or what time was displayed on the clock? You don't even remember the bad guy's name? What do you mean he was just bullet-fodder?

Oh, I see. None of those things were the focus and it was an action-packed, suspenseful scene. IT still drew you in, though, did it not? These same principles apply in writing.

Set your pacing according to the mood you want to enlist. Is the dance hall supposed to be lively? Add lots of vague comments about strobe lights blaring and thrumming beats while people swing their arms all over and jump around. Want it to be romantic? Then mention the way the dim light pools in the dancers' eyes as they hold each other and slowly spin to the calm music that evokes rich emotion. Describe how the dancer's feel being in each others' arms and how their nervousness melts away.

Want a real challenge that is bound to be a headache of fun? Describe the romantic couple waltzing in the lively dance hall.