Becoming a better writer is an endless process. Most of my books have a lot of things happening but if they were all ‘action’ the reader would get bored very quickly … even though they want lots of action.
Reflecting on this, I thought about how authors need both light and shade. Each of my chapters, regardless of length, is essentially a single “scene” with one main character, in one place, doing or saying something to move the plot forward. As they do so, they reveal more about themselves. Some chapters contain more than one scene, but let’s put those aside for a minute.
To keep the reader’s interest in the scene it needs “depth”, by which I mean the author gets the reader inside the character’s head so that they see the scene from the character’s perspective. The best way to do this is to use the senses to allow the reader to experience what the character experiences. This can (should) be an intense experience for the reader — in mystery the author will want to invoke curiosity, fear for the character, excitement. In a romance, the emotions would be different, as they would in speculative fiction (SF/fantasy). But we don’t want the reader in a perpetual state of nervous tension. Which is where light and shade come in. So, some of the text is intense, and some is relaxed to give the reader chance to take a breath.
I’ve illustrated this with some analysis of Wool by Hugh Howey (Chapter 1)
“The children were playing while Holston climbed to his death; he could hear them squealing as only happy children do. While they thundered about frantically above, Holston took his time, each step methodical and ponderous as he wound his way around the spiral staircase, old boots ringing on metal treads.”
This is the opening paragraph, as as well as it being lovely use of language, it also invokes three senses (hearing, feeling, sight). It contrasts death (Holston) and happiness (the children), and the children moving quickly, with Holston moving slowly.
More description of the staircase follows: …”Traffic elsewhere on the staircase sent dust shivering off in small clouds. Holston could feel the vibrations in the railing, which was worn down to the gleaming metal. That always amazed him: how centuries of bare palms and shuffling feet could wear down solid steel…”
We are experiencing the staircase as Holston does, sharing his reflections.
The chapter continues in this vein: contrasting the hope and excitement of children with Holsten’s bitter reflection about his life, his wife’s death, their failure to have children of their own. As the story proceeds, it becomes darker.
“Holsten turned away from the games … and walked towards his office … As he covered that ground, his thoughts went to the struggle that once took place there, a struggle of ghosts he’d had to walk through every day for the last three years. And he knew that if he turned and haunted that expansive view … his wife could be seen. She lay like a sleeping boulder, the air and toxins wearing away at her, arms curled under her head … He walked through that place of his wife’s ghostly struggle, where memories lay eternal, that scene of her sudden madness, and entered his office.
“Well, look who’s up early,” Marnes said, smiling.”
And then, we get a single line that completely changes the tone. All the tension of the last several pages is instantly dissipated by Marnes and his smiling comment. The reader has a momentary feeling of relief. The next section returns to the slow build up of tension.
That is light and shade!