The only way of approaching this subject with an intent to learn is to look at it objectively and the only way of judging it objectively is to recognise all writing, no matter how those percentages are distributed, has a slow/resting/fast pace. Yes, there are many times when some people consider something too slow whilst others find it fine, and visa versa. I'm coming at it from a 'learning' perspective and you're coming at it from a 'critique' perspective. Which brings us neatly back to the point of the thread!Ĭlick to expand.We're coming at this topic from two different angles. For me at least, that would be more to do with how it was written rather than simply saying 'this is too slow. For instance, if someone else had written Concrete Island, it might have come across as too much. I think your point of view-and I would agree with it-is more about the quality and implementation of each element, not necessarily the percentage of each. A thriller is likely going to have a bigger percentage of faster paced prose than say a romance, at least generally speaking. I suppose the percentages of each element (fast/resting/slow) are dependent to a certain extent on genre, but each element would still be there. If they didn't, there would be no way of creating the pacing for moodier, atmospheric moments and high impact action moments. All stories have a middle pacing (resting style) and then extremes either side from slow to fast. I would urge anyone who feels they don't write enough to read Concrete Island, not because it sets a standard for every story but because it demonstrates perfectly how sometimes more is actually more.Ĭlick to expand.I don't think a resting style is subjective.

Here though, from the crash itself, which sets the pace for the reader, to the survival of the protag, that excess sings. In the context of his story, set on a small deserted island of junk and dirt beneath the intersection of two highways, nothing much seems to happen, but is that really the case? The incredible detail and elaborate descriptions become the backdrop to an intense story, broken down into what would be ordinarily considered minor events, dealt with in most novels by a well crafted single sentence. Ballard and he's opened my eyes to a whole new world of warranted excess, a kind of literary oxymoron. I'm currently reading Concrete Island by J. I follow this rule rigorously, adding as much as possible and cutting what isn't working, until I've whittled it down while still maintaining the density required.

The urge to cut isn't always an indication the pace is off, it can be an indication the content isn't interesting, and that's often because there isn't enough for the reader to get their teeth into. I'm always telling people they're not writing enough and that instead of cutting to create pace and flow, they should add.

Ballard concrete island