As discussed last time, transitions are more than “and then…” Clarity is (usually) essential and keeping things smooth, almost to the point of being unnoticed is (usually) desirable. (In a later post, I will discuss the unusual.)
So how do you create transitions? What are the choices and which do you choose?
Signals
Did you know *** is called a dinkus? News to me, even though I have been using this bit of punctuation to communicate section break for years.
In fiction, it can tell readers a lot of things: Time has passed. This is a new scene. The point of view has changed.
For the writer, the dinkus can be used to keep what’s common together. The sections may have common themes or represent a sequence allow a less than chapter length intrusion of a villain’s perspective on a key task or development.
The dinkus can also be used to manage pacing. I usually include three to five sections in a chapter, creating tiny speed bumps to separate them just enough to allow reader adjustments. But, especially for later chapters, sections may be fewer (and shorter). And, just as a montage can be a series of examples or collect a building set of actions, section breaks can be used to speed readers through condensed sequences that read quickly and leave the dull stuff out. (Done well, these can be almost poetic.)
The little brother of the dinkus I use when less adjustment is needed (and for some on-page montages) is an extra return. The big brother, when more change happens and the reader does more of a reset than an on-the-fly adjustment, is the chapter break.
Italics can signal a different kind of section break within a chapter. A verse or song, the thoughts of a character, or an actuality (real or made-up). The last is like sticking a newsreel or a spinning newspaper that lands on a headline or narration into a film. Breaking the third wall (talking directly to the audience, usually without other characters noticing) breaks away in stage and film in a way that would probably be expressed in italics in a book.
Note: The punctuation stated above may have variations. Manuals of style (including in-house manuals) are not as standardized for these as they are for periods and commas. The point is that readers recognize breaks and the attention they should bring to each one. Your choice of signals depend on how much you, as the writer, want to demand reader attention for a transition.
Orientation
This all may be obvious, but it’s something I often got wrong early in my writing career, and I still fumble it. I see everything in a scene, so I am quite capable of assuming readers can read my mind. Not so.
When the location changes, that usually is the first thing to be noted. This may be by a cue (if readers are prepared) and there is nothing changed within the location. A change in time (and this can be jumping forward, having a flashback or a flashforward) is always implied by a new location. Even if it is brief. I’ve found it valuable to think in terms of the way a script handles this (DAY, NIGHT, SUNSET, DAWN, LATER, CONTINUOUS) or an onscreen title like PORT OF BALTIMORE - 1865.
A new location also raises the question of which characters are in the scene. The point of view gives you one, but others need to be identified in most cases. Even in a crowd (Times Square), all those who will speak or act in the scene need to be identified at the top. Otherwise, you’re not playing fair. The only tricky, not-introduce-at-the top exception is when a character is present at the beginning, but the viewpoint character doesn’t know it. Then a later mention is just fine.
But what if they aren’t present at the beginning of the scene? Easy. Place them there when they arrive. (When characters exit and enter within a scene, it’s called a French scene, by the way.)
If only time passes (and location and characters stay the same), that should be orientation enough. Though if characters become hungry or tired or edgy with time, that needs to be mentioned. Of course, if the situation changes or the timer on the bomb has advanced, keep readers apprised. In fact, it’s often a good idea to remind readers of story questions, tasks at hand, progress, and threats, even if they “should” already know.
Time, location, characters present, and reminders may simply be stated by the narrator (especially in first person). Unless withheld for dramatic effect, the order is usually determined by the priorities of what readers need to know to settle in. Sometimes, this results from what happened in the previous section or chapter, but the genre can make a difference, too. The tone (especially humorous) may drive it in some circumstances. So it’s good to go to some works by other writers and see the order they use.
When I was starting out, I used Roger Zelazny as my model, and I sampled dozens of scenes to get a sense of the order for his kind of science fiction. I’ve probably done the same over the years for a ten or more writers who seemed to be aiming at my imagined audiences. It’s a good exercise. And it will provide the best indications of how to order the essentials — time, location, characters present, and reminders — in your own work.
Not all orientation needs to be carried by narration. Dialogue can be a great way to orient readers. (I love it when a reminder is provided by an anxious character.) But never use dialogue if it isn’t organic. Dialogue does so much work in creating empathy and showing motivation and bringing the characters to life, that it should not be twisted to avoid narration.
One more thing. narration of activity beats static narration. A character doing something is easier to visualize and more memorable. Cold weather creates more reactions than comfortable weather. Shadows are interesting. Half the fun of Murder on the Orient Express is the train. If there are elements that both orient and make characters uncomfortable, the writer wins. If the elements used distract the reader, change them.
So the major options are order, narration/dialogue, and static/active. And your choices are guided by audience (often genre), fidelity to character, and engaging rather than distracting.
Threats and questions
I’m a big believer in hooks and cliffhangers. I aspire to creating page turning fiction.
Provided readers are empathizing with a character and goals, anything that might derail progress, raise stakes, or make (or show) the job is harder will cause readers to worry. The possibility of harm to the character (injury, anxiety, death) can also raise concern and keep pages turning to see if the character will be okay. This is why transitions often threaten the success or well-being of the character.
A few ways to initiate a threat are having something bad happen or a villain appear or an important misunderstanding or bad luck. Any of these (and more) occurring at a transition point will hold the attention of readers. But there are three ways the writer can mess up. 1) The threat may be unlikely, 2) the consequences may be insufficiently bad, or 3) the writer may rush to reassure the reader.
The last here is played for fun in The Princess Bride. The Princess is being attacked by eels, the Grandfather interrupts storytelling to say, “She doesn’t get eaten by the eels at this time.” (Comedy frequently turns writing rules upside-down.)
In my experience, 2) the consequences may be insufficiently bad is what writers usually fail at. It’s very hard to torture your characters (unless you’re Stephen King).
Questions may create worries, but it’s sufficient to have questions that will engage curiosity. My go-to is delicious questions. Why’d she kill the messenger before he could speak? How will he cross the bridge with the troll under it? Whose body is that floating in the river? What does the inscription on the gold chalice mean? What is the device used for? What’s in the box?
If it looks like a secret will be revealed, that’s good, too. Or a character showing an unknown capability. (He’s climbing up the side of a building like a human fly!) I love it when a mysterious character shows up in a story. I was delighted when Strider (Aragorn) was introduced as a potential threat. But so very interesting.
I haven’t covered two questions from last time.
The next post will attempt to answer “How might they be subverted in beneficial ways?”
And “how should revision be approached?” will be covered in the final post in the series.
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