Writers in the Storm

Hannah McKinnon

Nonlinear narratives – stories where events don’t happen in chronological order – are extremely useful for tension and pacing, but can be confusing to read and are notoriously difficult to write.

Movies such as Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs and The Usual Suspects have nonlinear structures, as did the rom-com Sliding Doors. But visual cues can more readily demonstrate the subtle time shifts a reader might otherwise miss in a novel (cue Gwyneth Paltrow’s different haircuts).

Attempting a nonlinear narrative for my first novel was ambitious, although I was no stranger to stories with that structure. Josie Lloyd & Emlyn Rees’ The Boy Next Door, Jojo Moyes’ The Girl You Left Behind or Lisa Jewell’s The House We Grew Up In are all examples of books I’d enjoyed. I was used to being shifted back and forth in time, and liked the suspense it created – unravelling the past and the present a little at a time, and in alternating chapters, always a source of excitement.

Both of my novels have nonlinear timelines. My first, Time After Time, had a simple premise; unhappy, forty-something Hayley wonders about the choices she’s made. One morning she wakes up married to her first boyfriend, Chris, whom she hasn’t seen in twenty years.

At this point the nonlinear narrative kicks in – back to the late 80s when Hayley met Chris, how their relationship started and subsequently fell apart. Then, in the alternate present, Hayley learns how her life would be had she and Chris stayed together. Hayley gets these glimpses with her other exes, too.

My second novel The Neighbors (available March 13, 2018) was more complicated because it has four viewpoint characters (and goes against point 3 below, which I ignored at my own peril!). The Neighbors is about two families, and deeply buried secrets that resurface, setting everyone on a destructive collision course. The first chapter shows an accident from 20 years ago, while the second is in the present. Over the course of the novel, and through a changing timeline, the reader discovers what each character is hiding, and what really happened all those years ago. All worth it in the end, but I’ll admit it led to many tear-your-hair-out moments as I wrote it.

If you think your story might work with a nonlinear timeline, and are unsure how to write it, here are some suggestions to help get you on your time-hopping way:

• Write your idea as a short story first

A 2,000 word story is easier to lay out in a non-chronological order than an 85,000 word novel. Start small, see how it works, and build from there.

• Make a story board with sticky notes

Grab two sets of different coloured sticky notes, use one for the past, the other for the present. Write your chapters or scenes in bullet point form, pop them on the board and start playing around with interweaving the timelines.

• Use one point of view

If you can, stick to your main protagonist’s point of view. Writing a nonlinear story from one person’s perspective will be simpler than attempting to interweave chapters with different timelines and alternate POV’s. You can always consider adding a second (or more) POV’s later.

• Write the chapters in chronological order

Or make a list of events in chronological order so you fully understand the timeline. If it’s not clear to you, it probably won’t be to your reader, either.

• Interweave the chapters

Once you’ve written the chapters (or list of events) in chronological order, physically interweave the pages to work out the best possible flow.

• Ensure the past and present storylines continue in chronological order

Have fun taking your readers back in time but think about time-hopping all over the place or you’ll risk losing them. Confused? Fair enough. This is best illustrated with two examples:

Example 1			Example 2
Chapter 1	January 2017		Chapter 1	February 2017
Chapter 2	April 1985		Chapter 2	May 1985
Chapter 3	February 2017		Chapter 3	January 2017
Chapter 4	May 1985		Chapter 4	April 1985

In Example 1 there are two storylines; one in 2017 and the other in 1985. While the chapters are interwoven present/past, the story of 2017 follows in chronological order (January, February) as does the story set in 1985 (April, May).

In Example 2 the chapters shift from 2017 to 1985. However, they also jump backwards within each year (e.g. February to January of 2017, May to April of 1985). This is difficult to pull off because you’re “double-shifting” the reader.

• Make the time shifts abundantly clear

Use a chapter heading with “XX years ago” or “Present Day” or simply the date. This will remind the reader which storyline they’re in. Add the character’s name if you have multiple points of view.

• Ask your beta-readers for feedback

Enquire how they felt about the timeline and the structure of the story. What, if anything, did they find confusing?

I’m editing my third novel, which has (*sighs with relief*) a linear narrative, and I see the attraction of structuring a manuscript this way. It’s saved me lots of head-scratching and under-my-breath muttering about the “ruddy timeline” (but not about the plot or the characters). Then again the story wouldn’t lend itself to a nonlinear narrative, so there’s little point in overcomplicating things for myself or a potential audience.

Whether you use a nonlinear narrative ultimately depends on your story. Start by asking yourself if it’ll make the novel more compelling, and if it’s a journey you think you – and your readers – will want to take. And if the answer is a resounding yes, buckle up, and enjoy the ride. Best of luck!

Have you tried time shifting? Ever wanted to?  Any tips for us? 

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 Hannah Mary was born in the UK, grew up in Switzerland and moved to Canada in 2010. After a successful career in recruitment, she quit the corporate world in favor of writing. The Neighbors is Hannah Mary’s second novel. She lives in Oakville, Ontario, with her husband and three sons, and is delighted by her twenty second commute. Connect with her on Facebook, on Twitter @HannahMMcKinnon, and on Instagram @HannahMaryMcKinnon. For more, visit her website, www.hannahmarymckinnon.com.

Today at Writers In The Storm we’re giving thanks for the “writerly” things that help us put words on the page. We're also opening the door for our readers! Share your gratitude for things large and small down in the comments.

Fae Rowen

 

I am grateful for learning how to effectively edit my writing—to fix pacing, character arcs, plot, and let the theme (which I didn't even know was there!) shine through. I highly recommend Michael Hauge's Writing Screenplays That Sell and Sol Stein's Stein on Writing if you want your revisions to work in ways you never dreamed possible. I'm thankful that I'm working on a new book, after nine editorial passes of three completed books during the past eighteen months! To my personal cheerleader, Laura Drake, and Jenny Hansen, who sends me quick notes of awesomeness, thank you. And I'm so grateful to have an Immersion Class with Margie Lawson to look forward to, as well as RWA National in Denver this summer.

 

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Jenny Hansen

I am thankful for great writing instructors, particularly those at the 2017 Cruising Writers and Margie Lawson. I've been struggling with a novel I love, and just couldn't get right, and then I met with Lisa Cron (Wired for Story) at Cruising Writers. She listened to me and said,"This whole [Storyline B]? That's good, but that's not your story. This relationship with your two sisters? THAT'S your story." And then she guided me to the Origin Story and now my entire book is rolling out before me like a movie and it's so much easier! I read Story Genius, but it took that Q&A for me to be able to actually see how to apply the genius to all my stories. That is the beauty of meeting with a great teacher. How would I edit without Margie Lawson's EDITS? Or explore emotional wounds properly without Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi's Emotional Wound Thesaurus. Seriously, y'all, go sign up for some of this magic.

 

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Julie Glover

I’m thankful for the community of writers I’ve found. Because quite frankly, a few times this year, I’ve wanted to just throw in the towel and walk away. Yet my fellow writers – no, friends – kept me going. They comforted me, encouraged me, inspired me, and kept me accountable. They reminded me why I want to be a writer and that I really can write a great story. At conferences, retreats, and writing cruises, we learned, we laughed, we bitched about this business (let’s be honest), we wrote, and we even sang. Yeah, this is my tribe. And I feel incredibly blessed to have met some of the best people I know through the experience of writing. If we’re friends, know that I’m truly thankful for you.
 

 

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Laura Drake

What Julie said!

But since I need more than that - I'm thankful for this blog, and proud of the four strong amazing women who began it. It's given me wisdom, made me think, and helped me remember that, though it seems we're alone on this crazy path, we're not. All we need do is reach out . . . many hands are there.

 

 

 

 

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What are you grateful for today? (You aren’t limited to one thing.) Is there a particular holiday custom you look forward to all year? What has been your biggest writing "surprise" this year?

Happy Thanksgiving to all our American friends!

Love and peace to you all this Holiday Season!
with tremendous gratitude from Writers In The Storm…

I'll admit it. I can write a scene that only a mother can love. One so sappy you'll need to test your blood for sugar afterward. A sure cure for insomnia. (as boring as all these old saws).

And when the author knows it sucks, you can imagine the sheer volume of suckage I'm talking about.

We all fall in love with our words, and at times we get carried away. We all love our characters, and don't want to be mean to them. 

So when you sense you've got a less than stellar scene, or when your critters (your critique group) tells you it needs work, here are some ideas that may help you salvage it from the scrap heap:

• What's at stake? Every single scene needs tension, and must either move the character along their arc, or set them back. If they're noticing the weather, the flowers or the transcendental loveliness of their lives, there'd better be a train barreling at them (literal or figurative).
• Are you in the right POV? I've done this. Get halfway into an important scene, and I'm telling, and using body language to try to up the tension. Even so, it's flat. Then I realize my problem. I should be in the other character's POV!  How do you know who's head you should be in? I don't believe in many hard and fast rules of writing, but this is the exception. Be in the POV of the character who has the most to lose! 
• Are you being too nice? Don't. Would we respect Scarlett O'Hara as much, if the Civil War wasn't happening in the middle of her story? How bad would the separation be for Claire, if she weren't so madly in love with Jamie? Would we care as much about Catniss, if she entered the Hunger Games, just to get the prize?  NO!  Your reader should reach The End, panting and worried the character isn't going to get their happily ever after. That only happens if their goal is almost impossible. So feel free to drag them through the mud, blood and beer.
• Surprise the reader Deepen the character by showing the reader a quirk, or something surprising they don't expect about your POV character. Raise questions about their backstory or their wound - But don't answer them!
• Amp the emotion There's a reason you wanted that scene there. Ask yourself why it's essential. If the answer is, it's not - that's easy. Junk it. But if you have a good reason for it, maybe it's boring because you need to amp up the emotion. I'm not talking Die Hard, or soap opera level, but show the effect of the development on the character through real, visceral emotion.
• Tighten, tighten, tighten Maybe your chapter should be only a scene, instead. Remember, less is often more, and your reader gets where you're going, waaaay before you think they do. How about combining two (or even three scenes)? Would that up the tension? The stakes? Pull those readers to the edge of their Lazy-boy? You can do this in two ways: Macro: cut paragraphs that don't serve enough purpose to belong there. Micro: tighten by slashing every sentence to it's essence. Especially in tense scenes, this can be the difference between meh, and oh, man!

Here's an example from the beginning a WIP (work in progress) of mine that shows not only how to tighten, but why. 

I find knowing the exact time and place of my death exhilarating.  It’s as if, all my life, in some primordial, subliminal part of my brain, I wondered: Is today the day?  Is a lump growing, even now? Has the bus that will hit me, just left the station? Those questions are behind me now. Maybe that’s why I feel lighter today. Stronger.

Leading the pace line, I pump my way up the hill, breathing hard, but with no weakness or cramping. The sun burns through my thin jersey and sweat from my forehead drips onto the handlebars. I welcome it. Such a normal, everyday thing. Who knows if I’ll feel it again?

Will Jo and my daughter stay in touch after I’m gone? Reality chuckles in my ear. I have no doubt Jo will try. But Bee . . . is Bee. A protective momma-bear to those she loves, suspicious of all outside the circle. And she’s spent years guarding the gate, making sure Jo stayed outside. Some things can be mended, but some are irrevocably broken. Unfixable.

Bee wasn’t always that way, but losing her mother at such a young age scratched deep gouges in her psyche. She grips those she needs tightly, as if by sheer will she can snatch them back from disaster. She doesn’t realize that grip can be suffocating, and have an equal and opposite reaction in the one being squeezed. When the kids get to be teenagers, she’ll learn. I’m sorry I won’t get to see that. I think I’d enjoy it quite a bit.

Near the crest of the hill, Pete passes me, panting, but still smiling. “Thanks for the pull, Dude.”

I flip him the bird and pedal on.

Jo is somewhere in the pack behind-hopefully dropped and falling back. I still can’t imagine being anywhere that Jo isn’t, but death doesn’t care about that. This is going to be hell on Joan. She’s going to be angry with me, possibly for a long time. I snort a laugh. Who am I kidding? Jo will never forgive my treason. She’ll see my leaving her behind as the ultimate betrayal. We’d planned to die together in our sleep, at some unspecified, but very ancient age. Our friends call us ‘soul mates’. Such a flippant new age-y term to explain something there aren’t words for. My heart pinches, but not from exertion. For twenty years, Jo and I have existed in a self-contained bubble, thriving on simply breathing each other in, and out. She’ll have to learn to breathe on her own again.

Not that I have any doubt that she will. Jo is indomitable. A scrapper.

I’d very much like to see that, too, but I don’t believe I will. I leave theological certainty to Bee.

I crest the hill, the freehub ratchet clicking faster as I pick up speed. My heart rate kicks up as I realize how close I am. What have I forgotten? I’ve been over every detail, every policy, every eventuality. There’s nothing left to do.

I’m flying down, keeping pace with the cars, heart soaring, sucking in deep lungfuls of Austin morning fresh air.

Pete waits at the intersection, for the group to catch up.

Keeping my fingers off the brakes, I shoot past him, against the light.

I love you always Joa-

Not bad, right? The man shown appears to be thoughtful, educated – in keeping with his career.

Except for one thing, that Margie Lawson pointed out. 

He’s riding to his DEATH!

If you know you’re going to die, you’re frightened, second-guessing, panicking. Your thoughts would be broken, and details would be a blur.

Duh. Man, did I feel stupid.

Here’s how it changed.

After

Today, death rides a bicycle. My bicycle.

Leading the Saturday morning ride, I pump my way up the hill, standing on the pedals, breathing hard. My legs are still working, still strong.

Sun burns through my jersey. Sweat drips onto the handlebars. Such everyday-taken-for-granted things, but not today. Knowing I have only minutes to live have made them precious. Glorious.

Will Jo and my daughter stay in touch after I’m gone? I have no doubt Jo will try. But Bee . . . is Bee. She’s spent years guarding the gate, keeping her stepmother out. Some things can be mended, but some are forever broken. Unfixable.

Near the crest of the hill, Pete passes me, panting, but still smiling. “Thanks for the pull, Professor Pud.”

I flip him the bird then kick it. In twenty yards I’ve gained a bike length on him. Reaching the top first is a very serious game we play. Played.

Jo is somewhere in the pack behind me-hopefully dropped and falling back. I still can’t imagine being anywhere that she isn’t, but death doesn’t care. I stand on the pedals to crank harder. Jo will never forgive me. My heart tugs, but not from the exertion. For twenty years, Jo and I have lived in a bubble, breathing each other in, and out.

She’ll have to learn to breathe on her own again.

Still in the lead, I crest the hill, my bike’s freehub ratchet clicking faster and faster. I’m close. My heart rate kicks up. What have I forgotten? Details I’ve been over and over. There’s nothing left to do, except . . . this.

We’re flying down, pacing the cars. Every Saturday, I have a second of sadness at the hill’s end. Freedom whistles past my ears. This time I don’t have to brake.

Pete does. He falls back. “Hey, Pud! Brake! Brake!” Then he’s gone, one more, left behind.

I flick a glance at the Garmin—thirty mph. It’s time. Fear roars. I lock my fingers on the bars, willing them not to move. “No brake, no brake, no brake!” The bike shimmies, on the edge of control. I slam my eyes shut. A gust of elation pushes me across the finish line. I shoot into the intersection, against the light.

I love you Joan. Forev-

Have any other tips for us to fix a boring scene?

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Laura started a video craft blog, to help writers. The latest is about pacing.

Just click on the photo to be taken there.