Break that Paragraph! Show It No Mercy
When should you break paragraphs in fiction?
One of the challenges I’ve noticed my fiction writing students struggling with most consistently is paragraphing. So, let’s look at some rules and suggestions.
Rule 1 — Dialogue
One of the most common problems I see in beginning fiction writers’ efforts is the lack of proper paragraph breaks between speakers in dialogue. This is also the case in similar situations of switching from one character’s reactions to another’s.
An absolute rule is that you must break a paragraph for every new speaker. So, with dialogue, you can’t have more than one person speaking within the same paragraph. This doesn’t work:
Amy asked, “Where are you going, Michael?” She stood in front of her housemate as he walked down the hallway, playfully stopping him with a foot in front of his path. “To the portal in the floor in the bathroom that takes me to wonderland.” He gestured wildly and winked. “Haha, do you mean the Alice in Wonderland towel that’s lying in front of the tub?” He pressed his foot against hers and wiggled it. “You bet!”
So, you’d break it for each speaker, Amy and Michael. But there’s more! What about the descriptions of their actions? Those always go on the same paragraph as the speaker. You don’t break it this way. “Haha, do you mean the Alice in Wonderland towel that’s lying in front of the tub?” He pressed his foot against hers and wiggled it.
“You bet!”
No, you break it this way: “Haha, do you mean the Alice in Wonderland towel that’s lying in front of the tub?”
He pressed his foot against hers and wiggled it. “You bet!”
Sure, Experimental Literature authors might break that rule and might have a whole novel as one paragraph. But if you’re considering rebelling against paragraphing rules, learn what they are so that you know what it means to break them. Only break them if you can explain why paragraphing represents a problem and why your method implies a superior schemata of consciousness or society. Or why it’s necessary to demonstrate something unique about the narrator. And even so, I’m not going to read that novel, myself. Like the rest of the world, I need paragraph breaks to let my eyes rest and my brain process the information.
Rule 2 — Scenes
You must break paragraphs when you change from one scene to another.
This doesn’t work: Torrence distractedly played with the cat using a stick with a ball dangling from its tip. He sat down and stared at the wall, which was covered with overlapping expired grocery coupons. He sighed and slumped, closing his eyes until the cat leaped onto his lap, digging its claws into his thighs. It was only two weeks later when he decided to give the cat away and showed up on the church steps with a basket in which the cat rolled around in the catnip scattered along the bottom. The church door opened before he had a chance to run away into the darkness.
This does: Torrence distractedly played with the cat using a stick with a ball dangling from its tip. He sat down and stared at the wall, which was covered with overlapping expired grocery coupons. He sighed and slumped, closing his eyes until the cat leaped onto his lap, digging its claws into his thighs.
It was only two weeks later when he decided to give the cat away and showed up on the church steps with a basket in which the cat rolled around in the catnip scattered along the bottom. The church door opened before he had a chance to run away into the darkness.
Why must it be broken there? It’s a new scene because the time and location change and we are beginning a new adventure with a new goal. Each scene follows its main character’s goal as he tries to attain it — usually unsuccessfully, or there wouldn’t be a story.
What’s wrong with this paragraph? Janice ran and ran, her marathon skills growing daily, weekly, monthly. Her running shoes became ragged, but she didn’t take time out to go to the store to buy new ones. She spent her days at home looking in the mirror, flexing her calves, measuring her hips and drinking sports drinks. She sat down at on a bench at a running track and cried, forcing herself to breathe slowly so no one saw her chest rising and falling. The embarrassment reddened her face beyond its already beet-red color. She had to get a hold of herself.
The problem is that the first part is expository, taking us through a period of time and then we are suddenly anchored in one time and space with an action, so we’ve moved to narrative format. We’ve gone from telling to showing. That’s jarring to be riding along on the flowing wave of time and then without warning to be narrowed down to a particle. It creates a bizarre feeling that can easily be avoided simply by breaking when we move from the expository passage to the beginning of an actual scene. So, unless you add in an effective transitional sentence, it should look like this:
Janice ran and ran, her marathon skills growing daily, weekly, monthly. Her running shoes became ragged, but she didn’t take time out to go to the store to buy new ones. She spent her days at home looking in the mirror, flexing her calves, measuring her hips and drinking sports drinks.
She sat down at on a bench at a running track and cried, forcing herself to breathe slowly so no one saw her chest rising and falling. The embarrassment reddened her face beyond its already beet-red color. She had to get a hold of herself.
Suggestion 1 — Readability
While in the past, people were used to reading somewhat long paragraphs in print books, now that people read so much online, we’ve become used to much shorter paragraphs. Those are in favor because they’re easier to process, to take what we need to from them, pause to understand it, then move on to the next.
Few paragraphs in fiction meant to entertain readers should be half a page in a book or magazine. There are very few reasons to do that. It might be appropriate if you are writing about one complex cohesive idea that requires you going into detail about it to back up the “thesis statement” at the beginning of the paragraph, which may come after a transition clause or sentence.
A very long paragraph could provide variety to balance out super short paragraphs that you include for impact. But normally, shorter paragraphs are far more appealing, as readers faced with long ones become so intimidated that they stop reading. It feels like a daunting chore, like homework to keep the idea going without taking a breath, holding everything in the brain before letting it go in preparation for the next paragraph.
Any time you move to a new topic, main character, time or place, theme, message, project, mood, etc., begin a new paragraph. Events in a long paragraph tend to flow together and seem unimportant because they aren’t being highlighted by space around them. The narrator sounds disorganized, unable to tell the difference between things, unskilled at telling a story. The readers don’t care much about what’s being said because it seems like the narrator doesn’t feel like what’s being said matters.
Suggestion 2 — Impact
Make very short paragraphs sometimes to portray tension, suspense, intensity, memorable statements and moments. If the events are choppy, make the sentences mimic that by making them jagged as well. They can be only one sentence or line of dialogue and that’s fine. There’s no rule that says paragraphs must all be bulky. If you go on to explain what happened, to complete a character’s dialogue, describe the setting, etc., that’s not so good to for a short paragraph. Keep those things in all in the same paragraph. But if you have a startling bald statement, a shocking line dialogue, an upsetting or thrilling turn of events and one sentence will get the idea across, keep it short to create an impact.
That makes it stand out dramatically. It doesn’t get merged into everything around it, but we are allowed time to feel the reverberating effects. This is particularly effective when there is a sassy statement of irony or a sudden, unexpected turning point. A drastic action. A major event. Silence.
This doesn’t work as well: Margaret rode her bike into the darkness underneath the bridge. “Is anyone there,” she called out, shaking. Nothing. No one. She gasped turned around suddenly when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
This works better: Margaret rode her bike into the darkness underneath the bridge. “Is anyone there,” she called out, shaking.
Nothing. No one.
She gasped and turned around suddenly when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
Show long paragraphs no mercy. Break them with your bare hands like a board. You’re their master. Show them what’s what.
