One of the more common problems writers face is how to keep a reader engaged. Much has been written about this topic, and I don’t claim to provide anything new. Rather, consider this a summary of the many theories out there, focused more on scene and chapter structuring.
Two ways to consider engagement is through pacing and intensity.
Pacing is how fast a story seems to move for the reader. Note, I said for the reader, because pacing is more than car-chases and bombs exploding. All one pace—whether slow or fast—can bore readers, who become accustomed to and eventually tune it out like they might a high-pitched whine. Sometimes, a writer will want to slow pace; other times, to quicken it. But any gripping story—even ones in which nothing very plot-ish seems to happen—caters to the reader’s experience.
The best-paced novels tend to create a rollercoaster pattern of spring, release, spring, release. These changing moods are built mostly through action-reaction sequences.
All story is driven by goal-seeking behavior, but that doesn’t mean a character is always on a hunt. Characters must also process their failures and learn from their mistakes if they are to grow and change. As they do, goals change, too, leveling-up and becoming more intense as the story climbs toward climax.
In an action sequence, a character will 1) pursue a goal (no matter how large or small), 2) confront a conflict in that pursuit, and 3) physically realize an outcome;
In a reaction sequence, the character will 1) react emotionally to that outcome, 2) face a new dilemma, and 3) reach a decision/contrive a new goal.
Thus, pacing is often determined by how a writer sets up these sequences—faster paced when the frequency between peaks (often associated with action) is short and slower when the characters spend more time coming to terms with their behaviors. But even action sequences can feel slow if they aren’t set up well, and likewise reaction sequences can feel fast when emotions run high.
So, besides writing more frequent action sequences, full of car chases and other cheap tricks, how does a writer create engagement? What drives readers into the next chapter, flipping pages until suddenly readers look up to find that it is two a.m. and they’ve read the entire novel in one sitting?
Investment, curiosity, and longing for closure.
A writer can foster these experiences in many ways, so I’ve provided a cheat-sheet list below. For more in-depth information on engaging readers, you might want read Lisa Cron, the foremost expert on why we read, create, listen, and view stories. Here, I have focused more on various ways to structure a story for intensity.
Lay the groundwork for readers to feel a novel’s intensity, even in the saggy middle, by
Withholding the end of the scene (its resolution). This is also known as a cliffhanger, a means of creating unresolved tension, driving the reader to continue reading. To create cliffhangers, you’ll want to cut chapters off right at the scene’s climax without resolving it so readers never feel the anticlimax or denouement, wanting then to read more to find out how it does resolve. For example, if it is an action scene, reserve the realized outcome for the next scene. If it is a reaction scene, withhold the new goal, perhaps only hinting at it.
Utilizing the character’s emotions, like confusion, discomfort, doubt to propel the reader forward. This is another way of withholding, but the thing being withheld is certainty. Readers will read on to resolve and define these emotions. Consider how many times you have watched a movie or show and kept watching through a cringey moment just to make sure everyone would be okay after. Similarly, discomfort ironically invests the reader in the story as they seek comfort from those awful feelings.
Worldbuilding in a plausible manner, so that your reader never stops to question why something is, how it is, or whether it belongs. For example, if a writer has created a mega-company in which the main character works, having that the CEO running into an employee somewhere and knowing that character’s name and position, just so the two can confront each other, might feel contrived. The scene then becomes too machinated, like coincidence, and the reader will then pause, feel cheated of the immersive experience, and put the book down. (For more on coincidence in novels, see my post about it).
Laying out breadcrumbs, giving just enough clues for something to seem plausible and make sense but withholding enough that we are curious and need to know more. Thrillers and mysteries do this best, giving unrealized clues so that by the time the goal is reached (the killer is revealed), the reader is both surprised by the end but feels it is inevitable. Maybe the information is specific enough that the reader starts formulating inferences but vague enough that they don’t feel cheated, having already figured everything out.
Making sure the stakes, reactions, and goals increase in intensity rather than fall backward, repeat, or stagnate. Feelings should heighten rather than diminish or plateau as the plot unfolds. For example, if the hero has already concluded that they were responsible for Y, the pace might feel slow if that character goes back to questioning their role in Y. Move on to larger questions about that responsibility, like “If I made Y happen, what else am I responsible for? Where does my culpability end?”
Cutting dialogue short, having characters avoid answering hard questions. Doing this not only replicates the natural way people speak but withholds information that might resolve a tension right away. Again, this is a means of cutting off before completing an arc, leaving the reader wanting more.
Keeping characters active, having them doing something physical—even if it’s loading a dishwasher or searching for a form—while they think or talk so we feel the movement of a scene.
Considering how mood affects pacing and intensity. For example, in a tense, fast-paced scene, readers don’t want nostalgic backstory or comforting imagery, like a mother’s warm touch and the smell of fresh-baked bread, Give the cold, harsh details here to ramp up the tension, or better yet, reference images that should be comforting but which grate on the character’s nerves (maybe his mother’s hands weren’t comforting but instead were cold, her long nails scraping his skin). Likewise, short, quipped sentences create tension and speed, while long-winded descriptions slow things down.
Hopefully something here helps writers ramp up their stories, avoiding flat, white-noise pacing. At the very least, writers must consider how balancing story is like putting together a puzzle, or a song, or even a mathematical equation, one structure fitting within a larger one, all of it completing the larger picture, where readers might want to stay as long as they can.