Chapters

Q: I wish you would address the question of chapters. How long should a chapter be?

Q: I think my chapters are too short; should I use a bigger font size to get the right number of pages?

Q: I am confused about chapters. How do you decide where a chapter begins? How do you decide how one ends, or how much material to put in a chapter?

Q: Are there any guidelines about the construction of chapters?

A: Evidently, the question of the month is "What is a Chapter?" That's a perfectly reasonable question, though I suspect that many people make it harder than it is, because they assume that all books sort of "come with" blank spaces labeled "Chapter 1," "Chapter 2," etc., and you have to fill in these spaces according to some arcane rules that nobody will tell you. So OK--I'll tell you.

Rule # 1 is that you don't actually have to have chapters at all. I don't. Or rather, I do, but I don't write them. I write the story--in pieces, because that's the approach that works best for me--and arrange all the pieces in a pleasing and/or sensible fashion. Then I take out anything that looks like it's unnecessary, whether that's a word, a line, a paragraph, a page, or a scene (this is the phase of work that I call "Slash-and-burn." It doesn't have anything to do with making chapters; it just clears out the undergrowth).

Then I go through the text, decide where chapter breaks should be, and think up the chapter titles (which is one of the most entertaining parts of writing the book, since at that point, the work is all done). But making chapters is just about the very last thing I do to a book before I send it to my editor.

Now, people who write in a more linear (i.e., "organized" ) fashion may find it easier or more appealing actually to write in chapters. Barbara Rogan, who writes excellent mysteries, suspense (Suspicion, published by Simon and Schuster) novels, and straight literary novels, is one of these admirable people. She says:

"What I don't like about mysteries is that you do have to plan so tightly. It's good discipline, I guess, like writing sonnets for poets, but I miss the freedom of straight novel writing. My method with mysteries (actually, it applies to other novels as well) is to plot the whole thing loosely, then work on it chapter by chapter. Before writing each chapter, I write down a list of goals: e.g. advance the relationship between A & B, advance this characterization and that subplot, reveal a secret, etc. Then I make a list of possible scenes that would achieve these goals; and then I write the chapter scene by scene. Works for me, in part by breaking the work down into managable bits, allowing me to just slog along without thinking how much lies ahead."

Beth Shope, an epic-fantasy writer says:

"Everyone writes differently--some don't decide where to begin and end chapters until the book is finished. Others, like myself, write within the framework of chapters, each having their own shape and goal, which in turn affect how the chapter ends. When I begin a chapter, I have a general notion (usually) of what that chapter needs to accomplish in terms of plot and character development (though often enough I end up with surprises ). Then I write along and when I can see that the chapter has accomplished what it needs to, then I know to end it. (Hopefully gracefully rather than abruptly.) Some end as cliff-hangers, some end quietly, but I like to end any chapter with the feeling that the bow has been tied on that particular package. The nature of the bow is determined by the shape of the chapter--i.e. whether some aspect of the plot has been brought to a temporary conclusion, in which case the bow has a quiet, neat feel to it; or whether it's been left open-ended, and thus the 'bow' may be nothing more than a pair of loose ends dangling in the breeze, tempting the reader to turn the page to find the resolution. At any rate, it doesn't matter how long or short the chapter is, as long as it accomplishes something."

If these approaches work for you, more power to you. I couldn't do it that way to save my life, but fortunately, nobody insists that I do.

See, one important thing that nobody ever seems to mention when talking about writing is this: Once the book is printed and bound, nobody can tell how you wrote it. Did you work with an outline? Did you write it backwards? Did you work on it every day, or once a week? NOBODY CAN TELL. All they can see is that here's a book, period.

Which means that you can do it any dang way you want. Anything that lets you get words on the page is the Right Way to write.

OK. With that in mind, then, here is Everything I Know About Chapters:

First off, do not mess with the font size, margins, etc. This will drive anybody reading the manuscript (like an agent or editor) crazy, and there's no point to it. There is no such thing as the "right" number of pages for a chapter. There are chapters in published books that consist of one word (e.g., Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes, where the last chapter consists solely of the word "'Tis."), and there are books with chapters that run dozens of pages.

In re chapters, there isn't such a thing as "too short," "too long," etc., because there is no rule anyplace about how long a chapter "should" be.

See, a chapter is an arbitrary break in the text, decided upon by the author, for the purpose of manipulating the reader. Ergo, you put chapter breaks where you think they'll be most effective. Period.

OK, next question is--manipulate the reader, how?

Well, basically, you want to either 1) make them keep reading, or 2) provide them with a breathing space, so they don't get worn out. Or, you want to make a definite break in the text so that you can 3) change locations, 4) change viewpoint, or 5) make a leap in time without disconcerting the reader.

A cliff-hanger ending--one where you end a scene, chapter, whatever with a situation that compels the reader to go on reading in order to find out what happens next--is one that, obviously , makes them keep reading. This doesn't have to be some big, huge, major cliff-hanger--some interesting situation that's developing will work (see Example 1, below).

A "closure" sort of chapter/scene is one where you've brought some situation to a sense of completeness, even though it may be strictly a temporary closure. (see Example 2, below) This kind of ending allows the reader to stop and draw breath, maybe put the book down to go to sleep, or at least feel an easing of psychic tension. You need lulls like this, because if you keep break-neck action and suspense going all the time, the reader will get exhausted and perhaps lose his or her concentration. You want them engrossed, not hanging on by their fingernails.

And change is just...change. You end one chapter with a conversation between Christopher Columbus and Queen Isabella, with her urging him to go find new worlds for Spain; you open the next one with him hanging over the rail of the Santa Maria, bidding farewell to his last meal of paella.

See, a chapter break is a useful lacuna in which you can lose all kinds of trivial details that you don't want to mess with--here, you've conveniently skipped over all the weeks he spent fitting out his ships and gathering men, and you didn't have to say a thing about it!

Likewise, if you choose to use multiple points of view, a chapter break is a good spot to switch viewpoints, because the reader is subconsciously ready for some kind of change; it's almost like resetting the sense of expectation they have when they pick up the book in the first place--they'll be willing to spend a few paragraphs picking up who, what, when, etc.

Beyond the author's convenience and sense of timing, though, there's nothing at all dictating chapter length. The last manuscript I sent in had one chapter that ran 5 pages, and another that ran 60. (The copyeditor stuck on a Post-it note, saying "This chapter is over 60 pages long! Is this OK?" To which I cheerily wrote back, "It's OK by me!" It was, too. I can't say I've ever had anyone remark on my chapters in any way, shape, or form, other than this institutionalized busy-bodying.)

Now, here are a couple of brief examples that illustrate "cliff-hanger" (mild form) and "closure" endings:

Example 1: [on the dock at Wilmington, NC]

Excerpts, The Fiery Cross
Copyright 2000 Diana Gabaldon

"Your servant, sir--ladies." Duff bowed to Jamie, and put a finger to the disreputable object on his head in brief token of respect. He glanced at Brianna, and a broad grin stretched his lips.

"Oh, so ye married her. Got her out o' the breeks, I see." He nudged Roger familiarly in the ribs, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. "Did ye pay her faither for her, or did he pay you to take her?" He emitted a creaking noise, which I took to be laughter.

Jamie and Bree gave Mr. Duff identical cold looks down the bridges of their long, straight noses, but before Roger could reply, the other oarsman shouted something incomprehensible from the boat below.

"Oh, aye, aye, hold your water, man." Mr. Duff waved a quelling hand at his partner. "That's by way of a jest," he explained to me confidentially. "What with us bein' sailors, ken. 'Hold your water,' aye? Forbye ye don't hold water, then ye'll be at the bottom o' the harbor, aye?" He quivered with merriment, making the creaking noise again.

"Most amusing," I assured him. "Did he say something about a whale?"

"Oh, to be sure! Was that not why ye've come down to the shore this morning?"

Everyone looked blank.

"No," Marsali said, too bent upon her errand to pay much attention to anything else, including whales. "Germain, come back here! No, sir, we've come to see if there's any word of the Anne Dorsey. Ye'll not have heard anything, yourself?"

Duff shook his head.

"No, Missus. But the weather's been that treacherous off the Banks for a month past..." He saw Marsali's face go pale, and hastened to add, "A good many ships will ha' sheered off, see? Gone to another port, maybe, or lyin' to just off the coast, in hopes of fair skies to make the run in. Ye recall, MacKenzie--we did that ourselves, when we came in wi' Gloriana."

"Aye, that's true." Roger nodded, though his eyes grew wary at mention of the Gloriana. He glanced briefly at Brianna, then back at Duff, and lowered his voice slightly. "You've parted company with Captain Bonnet, I see."

A small jolt shot through the soles of my feet, as though the dock had been electrified. Jamie and Bree both reacted, too, though in different fashion. He took an immediate step toward Duff, she took one back.

"Stephen Bonnet?" Jamie said, eyeing Duff with interest. "Ye'll be acquainted with that gentleman, will ye?"

"I have been, sir," Duff said, and crossed himself.

Jamie nodded slowly.

"Aye, I see. And will ye ken somewhat about Mr. Bonnet's present whereabouts, perhaps?"

"Och, well, as to that..."

Duff looked up at him speculatively, taking in the details of his clothing and appearance, and obviously wondering exactly how much the answer to that question might be worth. His partner below was growing increasingly restive, though, and shouted impatiently.

Marsali was restive, too.

"Where might they go, then? If they've gone to another port? Germain, stop! Ye'll fall in, next thing!" She bent to retrieve her offspring, who had been hanging over the edge of the wharf, peacefully exploring its underside, and hoiked him up onto one hip.

"Bonnet?" Jamie raised his brows, contriving to look simultaneously encouraging and menacing.

"They gone see da whale or don't they?" yelled the gentleman in the boat, impatient to be off on more profitable ventures.

Duff seemed somewhat at a loss as to whom to reply to first. His small eyes blinked, shifting to and fro between Jamie, Marsali, and his increasingly vociferous partner below. I stepped in to break the impasse.

"What's all this about a whale?"

Compelled to focus on this straightforward question, Duff looked relieved.

"Why, the dead whale, Missus. A big 'un, gone aground on the Island. I thought sure as ye'd all come down to see."

I looked out across the water, and for the first time realized that the boat-traffic was not entirely random. While a few large canoes and barges were headed toward the mouth of the Cape Fear, most of the smaller craft were plying to and fro, disappearing into the distant haze, or returning from it, bearing small groups of passengers. Linen parasols sprouted like pastel mushrooms from the boats, and there was a sprinkling of what were obviously townspeople on the dock, standing as we were, looking expectantly across the harbor.

"Two shillin's the boatload," Duff suggested ingratiatingly. "Over and back."

Roger, Brianna, and Marsali looked interested. Jamie looked uneasy.

"In that?" he asked, with a skeptical glance at the piretta, bobbing gently below. Duff's partner--a gentleman of indeterminate race and language--seemed inclined to take offense at this implied criticism of his craft, but Duff was reassuring.

"Oh, it's dead calm today, sir, dead calm. Why, t'would be like sittin' on a tavern bench. Congenial, aye?

Verra suitable to conversation." He blinked, innocently affable.

Jamie drew a deep breath in through his nose, and I saw him glance once more at the piretta. Jamie hated boats. On the other hand, he would do far more desperate things than get into a boat in pursuit of Stephen Bonnet. The only question was whether Mr. Duff actually had information to that end, or was only inveigling passengers. Jamie swallowed hard and braced his shoulders, steeling himself to it.

Not waiting, Duff reinforced his position by turning craftily to Marsali.

"There's a light-house on the Island, Ma'am. Ye can see a good ways out to sea from the top o' that. See if any ships should be lyin' off."

Marsali's hand dropped at once to her pocket, fumbling for the strings. I observed Germain solicitously poking a dead mussel over her shoulder toward Jemmy's eagerly open mouth, like a mother bird feeding her offspring a nice juicy worm, and tactfully intervened, taking him into my own arms.

"No, sweetheart," I said, dropping the mussel off the dock. "You don't want that nasty thing. Wouldn't you like to go see a nice dead whale, instead?"

Jamie sighed in resignation, and reached for his sporran.

"Ye'd best call for another boat, then, so as we'll not all drown together."

[end section]

See? This is not a lit-fuse-on-a-keg-of-dynamite cliffhanger, nor yet a villain-rips-off-his-mask-and-is-revealed- to-be-the-hero's-mother situation. BUT, we have at least three smallish questions here to which the reader would like the answer: 1) what will Duff tell Jamie about Bonnet? 2) Will Jamie be seasick? , and 3) What does a dead whale look like?

So most readers will turn the page to find out.

Example 2: [This bit comes at the conclusion of about fifty pages of non-stop hair-raisingness, mystery, and adventure, featuring (among other things) a haunted farm, a victim of apoplexy, and a panther attack.]

"Wake him in an hour," I muttered, shifting myself in an effort to achieve some minimal level of comfort on the rocky ground. "Ha, bloody ha." I leaned over and hoisted Jamie's head into my lap. He groaned slightly, but didn't twitch.

"Sniffles," I said accusingly to him. "Ha!"

I wriggled my shoulders and leaned back, finding some support against the sloping wall of our shelter. Despite Jamie's warning, it seemed unnecessary to keep an eye on Mrs. Beardsley; she had obligingly built up the fire, then curled up among the goats and--being merely flesh and blood, and therefore exhausted by the day's events--had gone immediately to sleep. I could hear her on the far side of the fire, snoring peacefully among the assorted wheezings and grunts of her companions.

"And what do you think you are, anyway?" I demanded of the heavy head resting on my thigh. "Vulcanized rubber?" My fingers touched his hair, quite without intent, and smoothed it gently. One corner of his mouth lifted suddenly, in a smile of startling sweetness.

It was gone as quickly as it had come, and I stared at him in astonishment. No, he was sound asleep; his breath came hoarse but even, and the long parti-colored lashes rested dark against his cheeks. Very softly, I stroked his head again.

Sure enough; the smile flickered like the touch of a flame, and disappeared. He sighed, very deeply, bent his neck to nuzzle closer, then relaxed completely, his body going limp.

"Oh, Christ, Jamie," I said softly, and felt tears sting my eyes.

It had been years since I'd seen him smile in his sleep like that. Not since the days of our early marriage, in fact--at Lallybroch.

"He'd always do it as a wee lad," his sister Jenny had told me then. "I think it means he's happy."

My fingers curled into the soft, thick hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the solid curve of his skull, the warm scalp and the hair-thin line of the ancient scar across it.

"Me, too," I whispered to him.

[end section]

So now the reader can stop and go to the bathroom. And I can start up the next chapter wherever I want to--when Claire wakes next morning, or late the next day in Roger's viewpoint, as he makes his way through the woods looking for the lost party, or back on Fraser's Ridge where Brianna is dealing with a visit from a delegation of Quakers.

And that's all I know about chapters.