A MATTER OF TIMING

by John M. Floyd

Question for the day: What does fiction writing have in common with stand-up comedy? (Sure, it has to be entertaining, if you want to keep your audience. But what else?)

The answer is timing. If you study the routines of successful comedians — Seinfeld and the late Johnny Carson are probably my favorites — you’ll find that they are/were masters of the art of timing. Knowing when to stop for a moment and say nothing is as important as knowing what to say. Actually, it’s true of all speakers: politicians, ministers, salesmen, etc.

Fiction works the same way. And I’m not referring to “pacing” here — the two are similar, but pacing, to me, means the overall flow of a story, the interspersing of action and description and dialogue to make sure it doesn’t either (1) bore the reader to death or (2) exhaust him with nonstop excitement. Here, I’m talking more about inserting pauses at certain significant points in order to make your fiction more interesting and effective.

Stop right there!

If two married characters in a story are having dinner and the wife says, “I’ve decided I want a divorce,” the husband probably won’t immediately say “What?” or “Oh, no,” or “Are you serious?” or “It’s about time.” For a period of several seconds or so, he won’t say anything at all. Instead the writer will put in a pause of some kind: His mouth dropped open, maybe, or The room fell silent or He could only stare at her or The clock on the mantle struck the hour or His face went slack or Somewhere outside, a truck rumbled past or He put his fork down and looked at his plate or any of a hundred other “beats” that allows that last line enough time to sink in. In fact, almost every statement or action of real consequence in a story should probably be followed by some kind of pause, something that will give whatever has just been said or done additional emphasis.

In films, remember the long silences that followed lines like these?

• Go ahead — make my day.
• She’s my sister and my daughter.
• No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die.
• Hey, Boo.
• You can’t handle the truth.
• They call me Mister Tibbs.
• I see dead people.
• Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.

The screenwriters, of course, did give a damn. Those pauses were put there for a reason.

Anticipation

It’s sometimes even important to pause just before a Significant Moment. It adds extra oomph to whatever happens next. Again, think of how often you’ve seen this done in movies: the jury foreman hesitates before revealing the verdict, the two gunmen facing each other in the street take forever to make their moves, the contest judge stares at each contestant before announcing the winner, the mad bomber’s thumb hovers above the red button until we wonder if he’ll really do it. And if we go back to the subject of comedy routines — or even the jokes we tell to each other at the bar or the gym or the office — there’s always a pause just before the punch line. The best rollercoaster freefalls should be preceded by a moment when the cars slow almost to a stop at the top of the slope.

Invisible means of support

I realize that there’s no handy formula for creating good fiction, and I realize that correct timing involves more than the oversimplified examples I’ve given here. But it’s certainly a requirement for good storytelling. The interesting thing about it is the fact that — as with most other writing techniques — when it’s done well we as readers don’t consciously notice it. The only time we notice it is when it’s not done well — when something appears rushed or false or in some way snaps us out of the “dream world” the writer has tried so hard to put us into. In the case of good fiction, readers are so swept along in the story they don’t think about or care about the mechanics. Successful writers do think about it and care about it, which is one the things that make them successful writers. (Or actors, or directors.)

To paraphrase a saying I heard once:

Don’t show them the claws at the end of the paws until you pause at the end of the clause.

And (thankfully) at the end of the column.