Tag Archives: pacing

May 19, 2025 · 6:00 am

Phrasing, pacing, and voice #writing

Today, we are revisiting the way our habitual word choices affect the pacing of our narrative.

We are encouraged to write active prose as opposed to passive, but what does that mean? First, the term “active prose” does not refer to the events that keep the plot arc moving.

Active prose refers to our word choices and how we construct our sentences.

A passive sentence is not “wrong.” No matter how active the phrasing, a poorly written sentence is not “better.”

Passive phrasing slows the reader’s perception of the story, which may be what you want.

  • “Deep in the forest, there was a cabin.” Passive, descriptive, longer.
  • “A cabin stood deep in the forest.” Active, verb forward, shorter.

The two examples say the same thing, but the words that surround and modify “cabin” change the mood of the sentence and set the tone for what follows. Neither sentence is right or wrong. It’s up to the writer to choose which style they go with.

Most modern readers don’t have the patience for long strings of descriptive, wordy sentences. However, they do like a chance to breathe and absorb what just happened.

Our task is to mingle active and passive phrasing to keep things balanced. That skill is a fundamental aspect of pacing.

Good pacing is about balanced prose as much as it is about staging the events. It is dynamic, engaging, and immersive.

How do we write balanced prose? It begins with the words we choose to show our story and the order in which we place them in the sentence.

The ways we combine active and passive phrasing are part of our signature, our voice. By mixing active phrasing with a little passive, we choose areas of emphasis and places in the narrative where we want to direct the reader’s attention.

Some types of narratives should feel highly charged and action-packed. Most of your sentences should be constructed with the verbs forward if you write in genres such as sci-fi, political thrillers, and crime thrillers.

  • Stephenie gripped the handhold, bracing herself.

The above sentence is Noun + verb + article + noun + transitive verb + noun.

Verbs are action words, but all verbs are not equal in strength.

Verbs that begin with hard consonants are power verbs. They push the action outward from a character. Other verbs pull the action inward. The two forces, push and pull, create a sense of opposition and friction. Dynamism in word choices injects a passage with vitality, vigor, and energy.

  • When we employ verbs that push the action outward from a character, we make them appear authoritative, competent, energetic, and decisive.
  • Conversely, verbs that pull the action in toward the character make them appear receptive, attentive, private, and flexible.

A poor choice of words makes a sentence weak. Passive construction can still be strong despite being poetic.

Has someone said your work is too wordy? An excess of modifiers could be the offenders.

  1. Look for the many forms of the phrasal verb to be. These words easily connect to other words and lead to long, convoluted passages.
  2. Look for connecting modifiers (still, however, again, etc.).

Concise writing can be difficult for those of us who love words in all their glory. Nevertheless, I work at it.

My goal during revisions is to make use of contrasts to show the story with the least number of words.

  • dwell on / ignore
  • embrace / reject
  • consent / refuse
  • agony / ecstasy

Many power words begin with hard consonants. The following is a short list of nouns and adjectives that start with the letter B. The images they convey when used to describe action project a feeling of power:

  • Backlash (noun)
  • Beating (noun or verb)
  • Beware (verb)
  • Blinded (adjective)
  • Blood (noun)
  • Bloodbath (noun)
  • Bloodcurdling (adjective)
  • Bloody (adjective)
  • Blunder (noun or verb)

courtesy Office360 graphics

As you can see, some nouns are also verbs, such as beating or blunder. When you incorporate any of the above “B” words into your prose, you are posting a road sign for the reader, a notice that danger lies ahead.

If I want to create an atmosphere of anxiety, I would use words that push the action outward:

  • Agony (noun)
  • Apocalypse (noun)
  • Armageddon (noun)
  • Assault (verb)
  • Backlash (noun)
  • Pale (modifier)
  • Panic (verb or noun)
  • Target (verb)
  • Teeter (verb)
  • Terrorize (verb)

If I want to show the interior workings of a character without resorting to a dump of italicized whining, I could write their internal observations using words that draw us in:

  • Delirious (modifier)
  • Depraved (modifier)
  • Desire (verb)
  • Dirty (modifier)
  • Divine (modifier)
  • Ecstatic (modifier)

So why are verbs so crucial in shaping the tone and atmosphere of a narrative? When things get tricky and the characters are working their way through a problem, verbs like stumble or blunder offer a sense of chaos and don’t require a lot of modifiers to show the atmosphere.

We are drawn to the work of our favorite authors because we like their voice and writing style. The unique, recognizable way they choose words and assemble them into sentences appeals to us, although we don’t consciously think of it that way.

In the second draft, I finetune the plot arc and character arcs, and most importantly, I adjust phrasing.

The tricky part is catching all the weak word choices. Those of you who write a clean first draft are rare and wonderful treasures. I wish I had that talent.

When I find a stretch of blah-blah-blah, I reimagine the scene. I go to the thesaurus to see how to strengthen the narrative while still keeping to my original intention.

There are times when nothing will improve an awkward scene, and it must be scrapped. Be brave and be bold, and cut away the dead wood.

Things to remember:

  • Where we choose to place the verbs changes their impact but not their meaning.
  • The words we surround verbs with change the mood but not their intention.
  • Modifiers are words that alter their sentences’ meanings. They add details and clarify facts, distinguishing between people, events, or objects.
  • Infinitives are mushy words, words with no definite beginning or end.

Modifiers and infinitives are necessary for good writing. However, like salt or any other seasoning, they have the power to strengthen or weaken our prose.

So now you know what I have been doing here at Casa del Jasperson. Cleaning up my excessively wordy work-in-progress is time-consuming. However, I enjoy this aspect of the craft as much as writing the first draft.

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May 12, 2025 · 6:00 am

Foreshadowing and pacing #writing

I’m sitting here on a cloudy Sunday morning in May, sipping tea and wondering what to write for this post. Things have been crazy on the home front for a couple of months. Well, for the last year, really. Now my husband is settled in a good place where he can be properly cared for around the clock. I am adjusting to having more time on my hands than I’m used to.

He’s in a lovely, caring home now. I go there to visit him every morning after I tend our small veggie plot in the community garden. And yes, although I do have the time now, I struggle to find the ambition to reorganize my jumble of an office.

However, while housekeeping still bores me, and I no longer have a valid excuse for not doing it, I always feel like writing.

Which seems more important than filing the pile of medical and legal documents that depress me.

I just don’t always know what to write.

And, sometimes, it’s hard to know where a story should actually begin. Is it the eve of a party? Is it the day of a friend’s funeral? Where does the story begin?

Wherever the story starts, I want the reader to keep turning the pages, and a little foreshadowing can encourage them to do that.

Hints that all is not what it seems are an important aspect of the narrative. They pique the reader’s interest and make them want to know what is really going on and how the book will end.

But what is foreshadowing? It is the subtle warning that danger lurks ahead, a few clues embedded in the first quarter of the story to subliminally alert the reader that things may not go well for the protagonist. We include small warning signs of future events, bait, if you will, to lure the reader and keep them reading

In the opening paragraphs, I will focus on the protagonists and hint at their problems. Novels are built the same way as a Gothic cathedral. Each scene is a small arc of action and reaction. These arcs support other arcs in layers, creating an intricate structure that rises high and withstands all that nature can throw at it.

In the first draft, we all commit sins of craftsmanship. These are secret codes, road signs for us to examine in the second draft:

  1. Clumsy foreshadowing, baldly stating what is going to happen later. We rewrite those scenes to make the clues less obvious.
  2. Or we might commit the opposite sin, neglecting to foreshadow so that events seem to arrive out of nowhere.

Recognizing those signals can be a challenge, but hopefully, our beta readers will notice and comment. My writing group is central to my work process.

We all know the opening paragraphs are vital. They are the hook and must offer a reason for the reader to continue past the first page. These paragraphs usually sell the book.

Getting the pacing right in those opening paragraphs and maintaining it to the last page is, in my opinion, the most challenging part of writing.

How much exposition is needed? What can be cut without making the story choppy and confusing? What must stay? When a possibility is briefly, almost offhandedly mentioned, but almost immediately overlooked or ignored by the protagonists, that is a form of foreshadowing.

Is that hint enough for the reader to understand what is going on? It’s easy to accidentally frontload the opening pages with a wall of backstory. I learned the hard way that long lead-ins ruin the chances of your book making readers happy.

I try to open the story with my characters in place and get the introductions out of the way. Within the first few pages, a question of some sort must be raised, or I must get the inciting incident underway. This is crucial for the pacing as it sets the characters and the reader on the trail of the answer, throwing them into the action.

Usually, there is no reason for the characters to hear the twelve-paragraph saga of the Caverns of Despair before they enter them. The readers also don’t need to know that history. The name is descriptive and is an indicator of what lies ahead. Names of places can be a form of foreshadowing that don’t slow the pacing.

Often, side characters will drop clues regarding things the protagonist doesn’t know, knowledge that affects the plot. Subplots that advance the main story’s plot arc are excellent ways of introducing the emotional part of the story, but beware.

Side quests are often fun in a video game but can ruin the pacing of a novel. They can be distracting and make for a haphazard story arc if they don’t relate to the central quest. I think side quests work best if they are presented once the book’s overall atmosphere is established and the core crisis is underway, and only if they are necessary for the completion of the principal quest.

Like Bilbo finding the One Ring.

Sometimes, we open the story by dropping our characters into the middle of an event. Even if we do that, we still need a pivotal event at the 1/4 mark that completely rocks their world. The event that changes everything is the jumping-off point for the story.

As a reader, I notice when a character suddenly displays a new skill or knowledge, something they never showed before. When this happens, it’s usually explained away as a Chekhov’s Skill. I usually stop reading at that point and forget about finishing the book.

Without briefly foreshadowing that superior ability, the reader will assume the character doesn’t have it, and the narrative becomes unbelievable. A casual mention early on of the characters using or training to use that skill would make it believable.

The most crucial aspect of foreshadowing is the surprise a reader feels when the clues come together to form a complete picture of the imminent disaster. This is the moment when the reader says, “I should have seen that coming.”

We have many reasons to pursue good foreshadowing skills. In my opinion, the most important is that it helps avoid using the clumsy Deus Ex Machina (pronounced: Day-us ex Mah-kee-nah) (God from the Machine) as a way to miraculously resolve an issue.

That literary faux pas occurs when, toward the end of the narrative, an author inserts a new event, character, ability, or otherwise resolves a seemingly insoluble problem in an unexpected and miraculous way.

Pacing is a combination of action and reaction. Transitions bookend each scene. They are a door into the scene and the way out. The way out is always the way into the next scene. How we use those transitions determines the importance of the passage. The bookends determine the narrative’s pacing.

Transition scenes get us smoothly from one event or conversation to the next. They push the plot forward and control pacing.

  • Action, reaction, information, reaction, action, reaction, rinse, and repeat until the story reaches its conclusion.

So, now that I have rambled on about writing, I will get busy and clear up my office. I always feel better once a disagreeable task is properly finished.

And then, maybe I will make some headway on my work in progress. Working in a lovely, organized space—what a concept!

Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: The Crystal Ball by John William Waterhouse, 1902. Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:John William Waterhouse – The Crystal Ball.JPG,” Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:John_William_Waterhouse_-_The_Crystal_Ball.JPG&oldid=1009616986  (accessed May 11, 2025).

IMAGE: The One Ring, Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:One Ring Blender Render.png,” Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:One_Ring_Blender_Render.png&oldid=914989927 (accessed May 11, 2025).

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March 13, 2024 · 6:00 am

Transitions – bookend scenes that determine pacing #writing

In the previous post, we talked about scene framing. Scenes are word pictures, portraits of a moment in a character’s life framed by the backdrop of the world around them. Everything depicted in that scene has meaning.

transitionsBut the scenes themselves are pictures within the larger picture of the story arc. Think of the story arc as a blank wall. We place the scenes on that blank wall in the order we want them, but without transition scenes, these moments in time appear random, as if they don’t go together.

Transitions bookend each scene, and the way we use those transitions determines the importance of the passage. The bookends determine the narrative’s pacing.

Transition scenes get us smoothly from one event or conversation to the next. They push the plot forward. Action, transition, action, transition—this is pacing.

The pacing of a story is created by the rise and fall of action.

  • Action: Our characters do
  • Visuals: We see the world through their eyes; they show us something.
  • Conversations: They tell us something, and the cycle begins again.

Do.

Show.

Tell.

I picked up my kit and looked around. No wife to kiss goodbye, no real home to leave behind, nothing of value to pack. Only the need to bid Aeoven and my failures goodbye. The quiet snick of the door closing behind me sounded like deliverance.

The character in the above transition scene completes an action in one scene and moves on to the next event. It reveals his mood and some of his history in 46 words and propels him into the next scene.

He does something: I picked up my kit and looked around.

He shows us something: No wife to kiss goodbye, no real home to leave behind, nothing of value to pack. Only the need to bid Aeoven and my failures goodbye.

He tells us something: The quiet snick of the door closing behind me sounded like deliverance. 

The door has closed, there is no going back, and he is now in the next action sequence. We find out who and what is waiting for him on the other side of that door.

All fiction has one thing in common regardless of the genre: characters we can empathize with are thrown into chaos with a plot.

Remember the blank wall from above and the random pictures placed on it?

Hieronymus Franken the arts

Our narrative begins as a blank wall strewn with pictures. We take those pictures and add transition pictures to create a coherent story out of the visual chaos.

This is where project management comes into play—we assign an order to how the scenes progress.

  • Processing the action.
  • Action again.
  • Processing/regrouping.

Our job is to make the transitions subliminal. We are constantly told, “Don’t waste words on empty scenes.” To be honest, I know a lot of words, and wasting them is my best skill.

bookendOur bookend scenes are not empty words. They should reveal something and push us toward something unknown. They lay the groundwork for what comes next.

What makes a memorable story? In my opinion, the emotions it evoked are why I loved a particular novel. The author allowed me to process the events and gave me a moment of rest and reflection between the action. 

I was with the characters when they took a moment to process what had just occurred. That moment transitions us to the next scene.

These information scenes are vital to the reader’s understanding of why these events occur. They show us what must be done to resolve the final problem.

The transition is also where you ratchet up the emotional tension. As shown in the example above, introspection offers an opportunity for clues about the characters to emerge. A “thinking scene” opens a window for the reader to see who they are and how they react. It illuminates their fears and strengths, and makes them seem real and self-aware.

Internal monologues should humanize our characters and show them as clueless about their flaws and strengths. It should even show they are ignorant of their deepest fears and don’t know how to achieve their goals.

With that said, we must avoid “head-hopping.” The best way to avoid confusion is to give a new chapter to each point-of-view character. (Head-hopping occurs when an author describes the thoughts of two point-of-view characters within a single scene.)

Fade-to-black is a time-honored way of moving from one event to the next. However, I dislike using fade-to-black scene breaks as transitions within a chapter. Why not just start a new chapter once the scene has faded to black?

The_Pyramid_Conflict_Tension_PacingOne of my favorite authors sometimes has chapters of only five or six hundred words, keeping each character thread separate and flowing well. A hard scene break with a new chapter is my preferred way to end a nice, satisfying fade-to-black.

Chapter breaks are transitions. I have found that as I write, chapter breaks fall naturally at certain places.

Every author develops habits that either speed up or slow down the workflow. I use project management skills to keep every aspect of life moving along smoothly, and that includes writing.

In my world, the first draft of any story or novel is really an expanded outline. It is a series of scenes that have characters talking or doing things. But those scenes are disconnected. The story is choppy, nothing but a series of events. All I was concerned about was getting the story written from the opening scene to the last page and the words “the end.”

Book- onstruction-sign copyThe second draft is where the real work begins. I set the first draft aside for several weeks and then go back to it. I look at my outline to make sure the events fall in the proper order. At that point, I can see how to write the transitions to ensure each scene flows naturally into the next.

Yes, that first draft manuscript was finished in the regard that it had a beginning, middle, and ending.

But I was too involved and couldn’t see that while each scene was a picture of a moment in time, it was only a skeleton, a pile of bones.

By setting it aside for a while, I’m able to see it still needs muscles and heart and flesh. Transitions layer those elements on, creating a living, breathing story.

Credits and attributions:

IMAGE: Title: The Sciences and Arts

Artist: Hieronymous Francken II  (1578–1623)  or Adriaen van Stalbemt  (1580–1662)

Genre: interior view

Date:   between 1607 and 1650

Medium: oil on panel

Dimensions: height: 117 cm (46 in); width: 89.9 cm (35.3 in)

Collection: Museo del Prado

Notes: This work’s attribution has not been determined with certainty with some historian preferring Francken over van Stalbemt. See Sotheby’s note. Sold 9 July 2014, lot 57, in London, for 422,500 GBP

Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Stalbent-ciencias y artes-prado.jpg,” Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Stalbent-ciencias_y_artes-prado.jpg&oldid=699790256 (accessed March 12, 2024).

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August 23, 2023 · 6:00 am

Introspection, a critical aspect of pacing and character development #amwriting

Scenes involving violence can be tricky because we feel pressured to make the events the story, leading to undeveloped, two-dimensional characters.

depth-of-characterWe forget to consider how the action affects both the protagonist and the reader. The reader needs a small break between incidents to process what just happened, and the characters need a chance to regroup and make plans.

Pacing consists of action followed by aftermath, followed by action, followed by aftermath—and so on. This is often compared to how a skater crosses the ice: push, glide, push, glide.

When we insert a few quieter moments after the action, we create the places where conversations happen. When the characters pause to absorb what just happened and to consider the next step, background information emerges in an organic, natural way.

We want to keep the rhythm of the piece moving, but if we don’t allow the reader to process things, we risk losing them before they finish reading. The story becomes a wall of words and confusion, and they put the book down.

The story is the reader’s journey, and it is our job to make it a personal one.

We’re all familiar with the term ‘flatlined’ as a medical expression indicating the patient has died. Stories are composed of words strung together so the reader becomes emotionally involved in the arc of action. The reader stays involved when the plot arc moves forward at a good pace, but when it flatlines, the reader loses interest.

Plot-exists-to-reveal-characterStories are a balancing act detailing the lives of engaging characters having intriguing and believable adventures. The reader lives and processes the action as it happens, suspending their disbelief.

When the story arc is imbalanced, it can flatline in two ways:

  • The action becomes random, an onslaught of meaningless events that make no sense.
  • The pauses become halts, long passages of random interior monologues that have little to do with the action.

We want to meet and know the characters on both sides of the action, protagonist and antagonist, and we do this through their introspections.

The trick is balancing the introspection and chaos, ensuring your contemplation doesn’t turn into info dumps where your character ponders everything that happens to him at length.

Some stories are meant to be more reflective than active, and some of my favorite literary classics are all about the character’s thoughts as they go through the events. Yet, even though the stories might be about what goes on in the characters’ heads more than the adventure, these narratives are not repetitive. The action, mental though it is, moves forward rather than backward.

modesitt quote the times we live LIRF11012022But if you are writing genre fiction, the market you are writing for expects more action than introspection. These stories are also character-driven, but the adventure, how the protagonist meets and overcomes the battles and roadblocks, is what interests the reader.

So, a sci-fi action adventure would have more extended action scenes separated by short scenes of introspection and conversation.

One way to avoid a flatlined story arc is through character interaction. Your characters briefly discuss what is on their minds and bravely muck on to the next roadblock. Conversations serve two important (in my opinion) functions:

  • It tells us what they think. New information vital to the story emerges.
  • The reader sees who the characters are and how they think.

ICountMyself-FriendsConversations illuminate a group’s relationship with each other and sheds light on our characters’ fears. It shows that they are self-aware and should present information not previously discussed.

Interior monologues, or introspection, don’t have to be italicized if you make it clear that Character A is having a mental dialogue with themselves.

  • Interior monologues (thoughts) serve to illuminate a character’s motives at a particular moment in time.

However, interior monologues should not make our characters appear all-knowing. They must show that our people are somewhat clueless about their flaws, strengths, or even their deepest fears and goals.

Your point-of-view character will be in the most danger of this. Avoid situations where the dialogue is too exact in predictions and character self-analysis. Too much foreshadowing ruins the mystery of the piece. The same follows for inner monologues, perhaps even more so.

As the character is forced to grow throughout the course of the story, these faults emerge gradually. The protagonist is pushed down the path to wisdom. Self-awareness should flower because of the “personal resurrection” that occurs near the end of the hero’s journey.

Author-thoughtsGreat characters begin in an unfinished state, a pencil sketch, as it were. They emerge from the events of their journey in full color, fully realized in the multi-dimensional form in which you initially visualized them.

For the protagonist, surviving the journey to self-knowledge is as important as living through the physical journey.

The antagonist must also be self-aware. While their outcome may not be positive, their reasoning and ethical values should emerge as the story progresses.

But maybe you are writing an over-the-top story with a good vs. evil narrative. The supervillain’s backstory may not need more than a mention.

We need to know enough so the supervillain isn’t there simply for the sake of drama. We want them to present a real, tangible threat, and readers must see them as intelligent enough to be dangerous.

Character interactions should show that all the characters have depth. They have layers, and conversations and interior dialogues should reveal aspects the reader doesn’t know up front as the story progresses.

Repetition is easy to write into the first draft of the narrative because we’re telling ourselves the story as we write. But during revisions, we must focus on the rhythm of the story (pacing), as well as making the story arc logical.

It’s a balancing act, one that often takes many drafts for me to get right.

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June 19, 2023 · 6:00 am

Pacing part 3 – Plotting the End #amwriting

Maybe you’re a “pantser,” not a “plotter.” Unlike me, you like to wing it when you write; just let the ideas flow freely.

Margaret Atwood on writing LIRF07252022I have “pantsed it” occasionally, which can be liberating but for me, there always comes a point where I realize my manuscript has gone way off track and is no longer fun to write. Then I must return to the point where the story stopped working and make an outline.

This year, I finally published Bleakbourne on Heath, a novel that began as a serial published in 2015 – 2016 on Edgewise Words Inn. That experience was how I discovered that writing and publishing a chapter a week is not my forte. I hit a dead spot at the ¾ mark, and the book was on hold for several years because of other writing commitments, but finally, it was finished, and now it is out the door.

Another bit of unfinished business is book two of a duology. I’ve committed to writing the second book in this set before publishing the first because I know from experience it will be years between installments, and readers don’t like that. This ensures the wait time for the second book’s release is reasonable. Even though the entire story will span two books, this first half must have a finite ending, and I think I have finally achieved that goal.

It’s at what would be considered the midpoint of the 2-book story arc. The problem has been deciding where in the overall story arc of the duology the ending of book one occurs and how it leads into the action of the opening chapters in the second half.

I have stopped floundering and (literally) cut my losses. I trimmed book two back to where the narrative dissolved into chaos. Now I must figure out how to bring the story to its intended conclusion.

This isn’t unusual. Fortunately, my years of doing NaNoWriMo have given me some tools for just such an emergency.

Jack Kerouak on writing LIRF07252022The first tool is a sense of balance. Every published novel has entire sections that were cut or rewritten at least once before it got to the editing stage.

Much of what you cut out can be recycled, reshaped, and reused, so never delete weeks of work. Save everything you cut to a new document, labeled and dated something like “Outtakes_AF_rewrite2_06-19-2023.” (For me, that stands for Outtakes, Aelfrid Firesword, rewrite 2, June-19-2023)

Now, we must consider what will be the most logical way to end this mess.

What is the core conflict? For me, a good way to pull the ending out of my subconscious is to revisit the outline I made of the story arc. Fortunately, I have been on top of things, so deviations from the original plans have been noted on my outline.

The problem I am experiencing now is that I didn’t know precisely where this duology would end when I began writing it so that part never got plotted. Now I can see how the internal growth of the characters has caused two of them to fundamentally change from what was originally planned. Their personal goals have radically deviated from what I had initially thought, and they have a lesser part to play.

By visualizing the whole picture of the story to this point, I usually find the inspiration to put together the final scenes that I know must happen. I know what must be achieved in the last chapters – I just can’t get it onto paper. This is where I stop and drag out a notebook and pen. I sit outside or in a coffee shop and write down those loose ideas for an hour or so. I find an outline is crucial, especially when trying to write a solid ending. The list of events helps me get the story out of my head in a logical sequence.

What must occur between the place where the plot was derailed and the end? I write a list of chapters with the keywords for each scene noted.

Once I have made a few notes as ideas occur to me, I start a new document and save it with a name indicating that it’s a worksheet for that novel: AF_Final_Chpts_Worksheet_06-19-2023 (Aelfrid Firesword, final chapters worksheet, and the date)

F Scott Fitzgerald on Good Writing LIRF07252022At first, the page is only a list of headings that detail the events I must write for each chapter. I know what end I have to arrive at. But the chapter headings are pulled out of the ether, accompanied by the howling of demons as I force my plot to take shape:

  • Chapter – Sunhammer revealed/Alf swears the vows of protection
  • (and so on until the last event)

You’ll note that there are no numbers, but the word “chapter” and a rudimentary title are there. I don’t number my chapters until the final draft is complete, although I do head each section with the word “chapter” written out, so it is easy to find with a global search. The titles will disappear, or be changed, depending on which series it is.

This is because, in my world, first drafts are not written linearly. Things change structurally with each rewrite. So the numbers are only put in when the manuscript is finalized.

  • I begin writing details that pertain to the section beneath each chapter heading as they occur to me.
  • Once that list is complete, those sketchy details get expanded on and grow into complete chapters,
  • Which I then copy and paste into the manuscript.

When I begin designing the ending, it’s as challenging as plotting the opening scenes. I go back to the basics and ask myself the same questions I asked in the beginning.

It’s a good idea to have a separate worksheet that lists each character and contains notes detailing what they wanted initially. That way, you can see how they’ve been changed by the events they have experienced.

  1. What do the characters want now that they have achieved a significant milestone?
  2. What will they have to sacrifice next?
  3. What stands in the way of their achieving the goal?
  4. Do they get what they initially wanted, or do their desires evolve away from that goal when new information is presented?

ok to write garbage quote c j cherryhDon’t be afraid to rewrite what isn’t working. Save everything you cut because I guarantee you will want to reuse some of that prose later at a place where it makes more sense.

Not having to reinvent those useful sections will significantly speed things up, so I urge you to save them with a file name that clearly labels them as background or outtakes.

We all suffer from the irrational notion that if we wrote it, we have to keep it, even though it no longer fits. No amount of rewriting and adjusting will make a scene or chapter work if it’s no longer needed to advance the story. When the story is stronger without that great episode, cut it.

Outtakes are fodder for a short story or novella set in that world. This is how prolific authors end up with so many short stories to make into compilations. Every side quest not used in the final manuscript can quickly become a short story featuring characters you already know well.

What you have written but not used in the finished novel is a form of world-building. It contributes to the established canon of that world and makes it more real in your mind.

UrsulaKLeGuinQuote

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June 14, 2023 · 6:00 am

Pacing part 2 – plotting the midpoint #amwriting

As I said in my previous post, Foreshadowing and the Strong Opening, I am writing the first draft of a new novel. I am filling in and altering the outline as I go. This means that nothing is canon, and many plot points, even major ones, will have changed by the time I am ready to publish this mess.

Words-And-How-We-Use-ThemSome novels are character-driven, others are event-driven, but all follow an arc. I’m a poet, and while I read in every genre, I seek out literary fantasy, novels with a character-driven plot. These are works by authors like Naomi Novik,  Tad Williams, and Patrick Rothfuss. These writers spend time crafting every aspect of their novels. For that reason, they cannot churn a new book out every year or even every two years.

Literary fantasy is a subgenre whose novels appeal to dedicated and determined readers. The authors spend time crafting prose that reflects a deep and often dark storyline, so if you prefer easily-digested fantasy, this is not for you. Complex themes play with and sometimes warp the expected fantasy tropes.

This subgenre focuses on the characters and how they are changed by their circumstances. Plot elements take place in a richly developed fantasy world. However, both setting and events are not the point of the story—they only frame and enable a character’s evolution.

hyperboleAnd the prose … words with impact, words combined with other words, set down in such a way that I feel silly even thinking I can write such works. Thankfully, my editor weeds out pretentious hyperbole and slaps me back to reality.

I am working on the first draft of a character-driven novel, trying to get the plot out of my head and noting events in the outline as I go. I have the first quarter nailed down reasonably well.

The midpoint of a novel is the longest section. It covers the second and third quarters of the book’s overall word count. In this section, emotions intensify, and the action does too. From this point on, the forces driving the plot are a train on a downhill run, picking up speed, and there is no stopping it or turning back now. The characters continue to be put to the test, and subplots kick into gear.

From the midpoint to the final plot point, pacing is critical.

And this is where I struggle as a writer.

These events tear the heroes down. They must break them emotionally and physically so that in the book’s final quarter, they can be rebuilt, stronger, and ready to face the enemy on equal terms.

As you approach the midpoint of the story arc, personal growth begins to drive the plot.

In the story I am plotting, two of the protagonists lose faith in themselves. One has a crisis of conscience, which is the result of the inciting incident. The other carries on doing what hasn’t worked in the past. Both have heavy burdens of guilt that must be shed.

Each must learn to live with who they are rather than who they wish to be.

Other characters know bits of the history behind these two, but no one knows everything. In this section, information must gradually emerge, showing the reader why they react the way they do. In the process, the four will learn to work together, setting aside their insecurities. By the final act, they must be hardened, able to function as a team, and determined to finish the task.

Book- onstruction-sign copyThis part of the novel is often difficult for me to get right. The protagonist must be put through a personal crisis. Their inner world must be shaken to the foundations.

But what is the lynchpin of this disaster?

It must be a logical outcome of events to that moment. My editor must be able to say, “Yes, that’s how it would happen.”

So now I need a terrible event. At this point in laying down the story, I don’t know what it is, but somehow, the protagonists have suffered a severe loss.

  • How are they emotionally destroyed by the events?
  • How was their own weakness responsible for the bad outcome?
  • How does this cause the protagonist to question everything they once believed in?
  • What gives them the courage to keep on going?
  • How does this personal death and rebirth event change them?

The midpoint is crucial because the truth underlying the conflict now emerges. As we approach the final act, the enemy’s weaknesses become apparent. My protagonists will overcome their crises and exploit those flaws—I just don’t know how yet.

I do know part of the plot. I have plans for the midpoint’s second half, an event where the protagonists must make hard decisions. They will scrape up the courage to do what must be done.

I haven’t discussed the enemy much, but I haven’t neglected them. They have had their day in the sun, and to my protagonists, it looks like the opponent has won. But even so, our heroes will reach into the depths of their souls and do what must be done, make that final effort.

plotting as a family picnicThis emotional low point is necessary for our characters’ personal arcs. It is the place where they are forced to face their weaknesses and rebuild themselves. They must discover they are stronger than they ever knew.

At this point in the novel, if I have done it right, my editor (who is also my first reader) will be worried, hoping everyone can hold it together long enough to overcome the hardships.

Fingers crossed, and with a fully fleshed-out outline at hand, it might happen. My writing group is a resource I will turn to as the plot progresses. They will kindly keep me from going off the rails, and that is a blessing.

Other posts in this series:

Pacing part one: foreshadowing and the strong opening #amwriting | Life in the Realm of Fantasy (conniejjasperson.com)

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March 29, 2023 · 6:00 am

Scenes, pacing, and chapter length #amwriting

Chapter breaks are transitions. I have found that chapter breaks fall naturally at certain places as I write. I’ve discussed this before, but I’m always happy to repeat myself. In my opinion, chapters can be the length they need to be.

chapterLengthWhen we commit to writing daily, our writing style grows and changes. When I began writing, some chapters totaled over 4,000 words.

As my writing style evolved, chapters became shorter. Now they average between 1,500 to 2,250. Some will be much shorter and some might be longer if the story demands it.

I try to consider the comfort of my reader. Many readers are like me—they want to finish a chapter in one sitting. Several years ago, I attended a seminar by a well-known author who said he has a specific word-count limit for chapter length.

 I’ve read and enjoyed many books where the authors made each scene a chapter, even if it was only two or three hundred words long. They ended up with over 100 chapters in their books, but the chapter length went unnoticed by me when I read it. L.E. Modesitt Jr. sometimes has chapters of only five or six hundred words, which keeps each point-of-view character’s storyline separate and flows well.

So, chapter length is a personal choice. But it does affect how the pacing of the overall story is perceived by the reader.

pacing memeAs a reader, books work best for me when each chapter details the events of one large scene or several related events. I think of chapters as if they were paragraphs. Paragraphs are not just short blocks of randomly assembled sentences.

  • A paragraph is a group of sentences that fleshes out a single idea.
  • That means that only one thought or speaker is featured in each paragraph.

Chapters are hard breaks. They are like paragraphs and can affect the overall pacing of the narrative. Packing too many unrelated ideas into one place makes them feel erratic and disconnected and throws off the pacing. It’s only my opinion, and in the end, you must decide what your style is going to be.

The way an author handles transitions is the key to a smooth, seamless narrative. As discussed in my previous post, a transition is a connecting scene moving the story forward to the following incident.

Conversely, the transition can be a scene that opens or closes a chapter by offering a tidbit of information that compels the reader to turn the page—the hook:

Conversations should detail something one or more characters don’t know.  A conversation is an opportunity to close a scene or chapter with a hook.

Fade-to-black: I’m not too fond of fade-to-black transitions except as a finish to a chapter. Fading-to-black in the middle of a chapter makes the story feel mushy.

Hard scene breaks: Sometimes, we must indicate that a space of time has passed with nothing happening that’s important or worth wasting words on. When a length of time has passed between the end of one scene and the beginning of the next, it makes sense to use the old 1-2-3:

  1. Wind the scene up with a firm finish.
  2. Leave the reader with a hook that makes them want to turn the page.
  3. Start a new chapter.

Sometimes an event occurs where more than one character has a point of view that needs to be shown. How you navigate this will significantly affect the readability of the narrative.

Most readers find it easier to follow the story when they are only in one character’s mind for the majority of the narrative.

If you switch POV characters, I strongly suggest changing scenes with a hard, visual break such as a blank space between paragraphs or ending the chapter.

Some editors suggest you change chapters, no matter how short when you switch to a different character’s point of view. That is my choice also, as a hard transition between characters is the best way to avoid head-hopping.

Head-hopping: first, you’re in his head, then you’re in hers, then you’re back in his—it gives the reader “tennis neck” and makes following the storyline difficult.

Howl's_Moving_Castle_(Book_Cover)I’ve mentioned before that one of the complaints some readers have with Robert Jordan’s brilliant Wheel of Time Series is how he wandered around between storylines as if he couldn’t decide who the main character was.

Then there is Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones. She consistently wrote two points of view into one paragraph. The story and characters are brilliant, but that habit made the dialogue difficult to follow in some places.

I don’t write at the level of Robert Jordan’s or Diana Wynne Jones’s prose and storytelling, so I try to focus on one storyline per scene and not head hop.

Now we come to a commonly asked question: Should I use numbers or give each chapter a name?

There is no rule—only authorial preference.

What is your gut feeling about how you want to construct this book or series? If good titles pop up in your mind for each chapter, by all means, go for it. Otherwise, numbered chapters are perfectly fine and don’t throw the reader out of the book.

Whether you choose numbered or titled chapter headings, be consistent and stay with that choice for the entire book.

To sum things up:

  • Limit point of view characters to one per scene.
  • Each chapter should detail related scenes and events rather than a jumble of unrelated happenings.
  • In regard to chapter length, you, as the author, must decide what the right word count is.
  • End your chapters at a logical place, but doend each chapter with a hook that begs the reader to continue on to the next chapter.

One final thing – Some literary contests and publications have a “novella,” a “novelette,” and a “short story” category. The length for these categories is based on word count.

WilliamBlakeImaginationLIRF05072022Short stories run up to 7,000 words, with under 4,000 being the most commonly requested length. 7,500–17,500 is the expected length for novelettes, and between 17,500 and 40,000 words are the standard length for novellas.

Short stories are constructed like novels but with one difference. If you are writing a short story, dividing it into chapters isn’t an option, but you may feel that a hard break is required at the end of a scene. In that case, editors with open calls for short stories will often ask that you insert an asterisk or hashtag to indicate a hard scene break.

Longer novelettes might have chapters. Novellas will probably be broken into chapters. The piece’s length determines whether or not hard chapter breaks are useful.

We each have an idea of how we want our finished work to look. We know what works for us as readers. Go with your gut, and chances are you will do fine.

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July 20, 2022 · 6:00 am

Pacing and the Function of the Action Scene #amwriting

I love writing action scenes. Even though the first draft is only the foundation of the bigger picture, it is fun to write because of the action and events.

ScenesHowever, (cue the danger theme music), once I have set it aside for a while, I will have to begin the revision process. That is when writing becomes work. This is the moment I discover the child of my heart isn’t perfect – my action scenes are a little … confusing.

As I mentioned in Monday’s post, Pacing and the Function of the Transition Scene, we don’t worry about the details when we are in the zone and writing the first draft. We just write it as quickly as possible and get the story’s basics down before we forget the good ideas we had while we were at the store.

It’s a little terrifying how many things I find in my early drafts that must be changed to enable a reader to see the story the way I envision it.

I think of a story as being like an ocean. It has a kind of rhythm, a wave action we call pacing. Pacing is created by the way an author links events and transitions. Now we are going to look at how each action scene flows.

Our raw manuscript has a beginning, middle, and ending. We have linked our scenes with transitions, but our manuscript is not ready for a reader. We still need to flesh that skeleton out.

The functions of the action scene are:

  • to propel the plot forward,
  • to provide stumbling blocks to happiness,
  • to force change and growth on the characters.

2560px-Sargent,_John_Singer_(RA)_-_Gassed_-_Google_Art_Project

Gassed, by John Singer Sargent, via Wikimedia Commons and Google Art Project, PD|100

Genre fiction has one thing in common regardless of the tropes: characters we can empathize with are thrown into chaos-with-a-plot. Scenes of conflict are crucial to the advancement of the story. They should be inserted into the novel as deliberately as if one were staging a pivotal scene in a film.

Arguments and confrontations in real life are chaotic, leaving us wondering what just happened. We want to convey that sense of chaos in writing, but we must consider the reader. Readers want to see the scene and understand what they just read.

Readers want to see the logic behind a book’s plot. So, we must design every action scene to ensure they fit naturally into a narrative from the first incident onwards.

  • Book- onstruction-sign copyWhat motivated the action?
  • Why was the action justified in the character’s mind?
  • What could they have done differently?

Clarity is crucial. Threats can’t be nebulous. Whatever you have the characters do, their reasoning, even if it is flawed, must be made clear to the reader at the outset.

Vague threats mean nothing in real life other than causing us to worry about something that will never happen.

I look for info dumps, passive phrasing, and timid words. These telling passages are codes for me, laid down in the first draft. They are signs that a section needs rewriting to make it visual rather than telling. Clunky phrasing and info dumps are signals telling me what I intend that scene to be. I must cut some of the info and allow the reader to use their imagination.

220px-Sir_Galahad_(Watts)

Sir Galahad, by George Frederick Watts, 1888. PD|100

So, did the knowledge our characters and readers require emerge gradually with each action and transition sequence? Did each clue and vital piece of knowledge fall at the right point in the arc of the scene?

Once you understand the ultimate threat to our characters’ survival, you can dole out the necessary information in small increments, teasers to keep the readers reading, and the plot moving along.

Rumors and vague threats should be the harbinger of future events. But they only work if the danger materializes quickly and the roadblocks to happiness soon become apparent.

Resolving disaster is the story. Once the inciting incident has occurred, hold the solution just out of reach for the rest of the narrative until the final confrontation. Every time our protagonists nearly have it fixed, they don’t, and things get worse.

I use a spreadsheet to design action sequences, which takes a little time. You can use any way that works for you, but I suggest you do it on a separate sheet and save it in your outtakes file with a name specifying what that page details. HG_Tor_vs_dragon_.docx (It signifies: High Gate scene, Torvald vs. dragon. I use MS Word, so its file extension is .docx).

When I put action into a scene, I hope the reader doesn’t say, “She wouldn’t do that.” Random gore and violence muddy the story. Nothing should be random; everything must fall into place as if the next event is inevitable based on what has gone before.

The arc of an action scene is like any other: it begins, rises to a peak, and ebbs, ending at a slightly higher point of the story arc than when it started.

LIRF07172022_B

Whenever you must write scenes that involve violence, ask yourself these questions:

  • Is this scene necessary, or am I desperate? Am I trying to liven up a stagnant story arc?
  • What does this scene show about the world my protagonist lives in?
  • Will this event fundamentally change my protagonist and affect how they go forward?
  • What does this event accomplish that advances the plot toward its conclusion?
  • Why was this event unavoidable?

Blood and sex are often featured in the most profoundly moving stories I have read. However, those scenes only worked for me because they occurred for a reason. They were watershed moments in the protagonists’ lives.

Action scenes are not only about violence and chaotic events. They can convey the setting and mood and offer information about relationships without bloated exposition. Scenes of quiet action can change everything and still act as transition scenes.

LIRF07172022

Here we have a character who wants no part of anything remotely hinting at romance. Yet, there is an attraction that must be shown. We have the warning that significant events will occur later, forcing them to work together. However, in the meantime, one character is standoffish.

I get the most mileage from transitions when I make them scenes of action and information, and I have less of a tendency to dump information – my personal curse.

Large, violent events demand a purpose. Scenes of nonviolent action used as transitions can provide the characters and reader with the reasons for that action.

That ebb and flow of upheaval and relative calm that occurs over the arc of the story is pacing.

storyArcLIRF10032021

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December 16, 2020 · 6:00 am

Dissecting the Scene: plot points #amwriting

Scenes are the Legos, the building blocks of the story. We all loved building things with our Legos, but readers are impatient. For that reason, no scene can be wasted, written just to entertain us, the writer. All of those scenes are background and world building, and should be saved in a separate file.

We want to ensure that each scene has a function. When I am writing the first or even the second draft, I can find myself at a loss as to what needs to happen next to advance the story.

I keep a list of plot points that could be explored and try to nudge my plot forward by exploring one of these actions:

  • Information
  • Confrontation
  • Reunion
  • Revelation
  • Negotiation
  • Decision
  • Capitulation
  • Catalyst
  • Contemplation/Reflection
  • Turning Point
  • Resolution
  • Deep emotions

Exploring each of these plot points alters the characters’ view of their world. Every change in a character’s awareness directly impacts the direction of the story and doles out information the reader and/or the characters require to advance.

I like to use a watershed scene from the book, the Fellowship of the Ring, as an example of this. If you have only seen the movie, the version you know is quite different. You haven’t seen the real story as J.R.R. himself told it.

So, toward the end of book one of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Ring series, we come to The Council of Elrond. The scene is set in Rivendell, Elrond’s remote mountain citadel.

Each character attending the Council has arrived there on a separate errand. Each has different hopes for what will ultimately come from the meeting. Despite their various agendas, each is ultimately concerned with the ring of power. Each wants to protect their people from Sauron’s depredations if he were to regain possession of it.

This scene serves several functions:

Information/Revelation: The Council of Elrond conveys information to both the protagonists and the reader.

It is a conversation scene, driven by the fact that each person in the meeting has knowledge the others need. Conversations are an excellent way to deploy necessary information. Remember, plot points are driven by the characters who have critical knowledge.

The fact that some characters are working with limited information is what creates the tension. At the Council of Elrond, many things are discussed, and the full story of the One Ring is explained, with each character offering a new piece of the puzzle. The reader and the characters receive the information at the same time at this point in the novel.

Inter-racial bigotry and confrontation: A well-placed verbal confrontation gives the reader the context they need to understand why the action occurs.

At the Council of Elrond, long-simmering racial tensions between Gimli the Dwarf and Legolas the Elf surface. Each is possessed of a confrontational nature, and it isn’t clear whether they will be able to work together or not.

Thus, we have action/confrontation in this vignette, followed by conversation, followed by the characters’ reactions.

The conversation and reaction give the scene context, which is critical. A scene that is all action can be confusing if it has no context.

Other conflicts are explored, and heated exchanges occur between Aragorn and Boromir.

Negotiation: What concessions will have to be made to achieve the final goal? These concessions must be negotiated.

First, Tom Bombadil is mentioned as one who could safely take the ring to Mordor as it has no power over him. Gandalf feels he would simply lose the ring or give it away because Tom lives in a reality of his own and doesn’t see Sauron as a problem.

Bilbo volunteers, but he is too old and frail. Others offer, but none are accepted as good candidates for the job of ring-bearer for one reason or another.

Each justification Gandalf and Elrond offer for why these characters are wrong for the job deploys a small bit of information the reader needs.

Turning Point: After much discussion, many revelations, and bitter arguments, Frodo declares that he will go to Mordor and dispose of the ring, giving up his chance to live his remaining life in the comfort and safety of Rivendell. Sam emerges from his hiding place and demands to be allowed to accompany Frodo. This moment is the turning point of the story.

(The movie portrays this scene differently, with Pip and Merry hiding in the shadows. Also, in the book, the decision about who will accompany Frodo, other than Sam, is not made for several days, while the movie shortens it to one day.)

The arc of the story is supported by smaller arcs. These arcs of conflict and reflection are scenes.

The arc of the scene is like any other: it begins, rises to a peak, and ebbs, ending on a slightly higher point of the overall story arc than when it started, leading to the brief transition scene.

Transitions can be as simple as a change of setting, one character leaving the room for a breath of air. They can be hard transitions; the scene ends, and with it, so does that chapter.

Within a chapter, conversations can serve as good transitions that propel the story forward to the next scene, offering a chance to absorb what just happened. This rhythm of action – reaction – action – reaction is how we adjust the pacing. Pacing is how we affect the reader’s emotions.

With each scene, we push the character arc, raising the stakes a little. Our protagonist is shaped by experiencing events and receiving needed information through action and conversation.

All the arcs together form a cathedral-like structure: the novel.

By creating small arcs, we offer the reader the chance to experience the rise and fall of tension, the life-breath of the novel at the same time as the protagonist does. This is how we give the reader a sense of immediacy.

Credits and Attributions:

Facade of the Cathedral of Milan, Italy, in February 2009, after its cleaning.  MarkusMark, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons

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October 7, 2020 · 6:00 am

Thoughts on narrative perspective part 2: closeup on the antagonist #amwriting

For scriptwriters, the closeup is an essential aspect of pacing. It focuses on one character and shows us details about them and their role that they (the characters) might not be aware of. This importance transfers over to how we show scenes in our written narratives. To get the most out of our words, we who write stories must frame our scenes the way scriptwriters do theirs.

We vary the narrative distance, which is our best tool to show humanity in our characters. The wide view shows the protagonist and their companions as they move through their environment.

Then we narrow the focus, perhaps take it down to a conversation between two people. One person drops out of the conversation, and we are left with the closeup view of our protagonist.

At our closest to them, we are in their heads. We hear their mental ruminations in real-time. By listening to this voice, the reader sees what the characters believe is at stake and how weak or strong they consider their position.

When we are drawn into a character’s head, we view them through the mirror in which they see themselves.

What we, as authors, have to consider is how that mirror is distorted. Never forget that all self-reflections are skewed, often to the positive, but usually toward the negative. We see flaws in ourselves that no one else does, so we don’t usually see ourselves as heroes.

This is because we subconsciously compare ourselves to others. We observe their abilities and are acutely aware of our own vulnerabilities in comparison. So, we strive to better ourselves.

Through manipulating the narrative distance, the author shows how the protagonist regards their companions, and what kind of people they are.

Sometimes, it raises the stakes if the author writes a chapter focusing on the antagonist. Take this opportunity to show us who the antagonist sees when they gaze into the mirror of self-reflection. Since nothing happens without a root cause, we can learn why they oppose the protagonist, and what their strengths are.

Now here is where we can make things interesting. What if the antagonist isn’t trying to be wicked? What if they are fighting for what they believe is the right thing? What if, in their view, they are the heroes who have the moral high ground?

Think of how much evil has come out of civil wars in humanity’s history. Then consider how firmly the opposite sides believed in their moral superiority, and what was lost or gained in the end. All interpersonal disputes are wars, just on a lesser scale.

How will you choose to show this on a smaller, personal level? The closeup shows us who the antagonist believes they are and why they have the right to oppose the protagonist.

Sometimes, if the writer shows little sympathy for the devil, it raises the emotional stakes.

Readers want to understand why the action is happening. Both sides need an opportunity to explore what they perceive as the conflict’s fundamental cause.

Authors show this through internal dialogue, moving out to a broader view with conversations, and expanding again to an external narrative.

As a reader, having hints of what is at stake for the opposition makes me care about the outcome. With the relationship established, we can widen the picture and show what is at stake for both sides. I want to feel a little compassion, or if not that, I want to understand how failing will change the losers’ lives.

Good pacing of narrative distance—moving in close, then widening out, and then moving back in—adds emotional power to the story. This tempo allows the reader to process the information and action at the same time as the characters.

Keep the stakes high and the emotions intense, and I will stay immersed in that book.

Credits and Attributions:

Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Before the Mirror.jpg,” Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Before_the_Mirror.jpg&oldid=462235289 (accessed October 6, 2020).

Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Mirror of the souls.jpg,” Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Mirror_of_the_souls.jpg&oldid=478982509 (accessed October 6, 2020).

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