Tick, Tick, Tick

Tick, Tick, Tick

It’s impossible to talk about timing without identifying the timing device in a novel.  ‘Nother Mike asked me about the practice of having a timer in a novel, and he was half amused, because he was referring to the clock that stops at the last minute.  (Galaxy quest – “it always stops at one second.”)

I’ll admit that those timing devices are so cliched that at this point everyone snorts when reading it.

And yet, unless you’re reading an unstructured “literary” novel, I guarantee it has a timing device.  And if you are writing anything but an unstructured “literary” novel, you need a timing device.

“But Sarah” you say, because you’re helpful that way.  “What do you mean by a timing device if we can’t use clocks?”

Well, you can use clocks, it’s just become a – shudder – movie cliche.  But a timing device can be anything: there is a bomb hidden in a metro area, and our detective must find the terrorist before it blows; or the man of her dreams thinks she hates him and is going to marry his second cousin five times removed, unless the MC can kiss him and convince him she loves him; or the suspected killer is going to be found and might be killed, unless the detective finds the real killer; or unless this expedition to the exo planet works, the entire world will starve.  Or…

Look, one thing you have to realize, while you’re writing, is that your story and your characters are fascinating to you in a way they’re not to anyone else.  They’re YOURS.  They got into your brain like a bug and stayed long enough and bothered you long enough that you had to write them.  You care about them.  You’re going to be fascinated by their shopping expedition, their cuddling with the cat, and their walk in the park.

Readers, need a reason to care.  And if you want to have slightly slower moments: like the cuddling with the cat and the walk in the park, you NEED to give the reason a motive to care and a sense of urgency.

Think about it.  A walk in the park is a walk in the park but if you know while he’s walking in the park, his fiancé might be having her toes toasted, you’re going to read more carefully and more attentively and also with the sense of “come on, now.  Go rescue Topsy while she still has toes!” “What did you just see at the park?  Will this help you find Topsy?”

The timing device is a subplot with a limited “closing date” which lends urgency to the main plot of the book.

In a thriller these are often very visible, in your face, and show you the worst that can happen RIGHT up front.  “They blew up Paris. If we don’t find this bomb, London is next.”  And the book would open with Paris blowing up.

In a mystery they’re often subtle and if it’s a cozy it’s often the romance that’s threatened.  If I had a dime for EVERY time Agatha Christie has said the equivalent of “if this isn’t solved, we’ll all be under suspicion forever and so and so will never dare marry so and so, and he’s set to go to Egypt next week with a broken heart” I’d be a very rich woman.  In Ellis Peters’ Brother Cadfael mysteries, it is often the falsely accused that lends urgency.  If you don’t find the true killer, the suspect-in-hiding will be caught and killed.

Sometimes it’s not so much a time limit as the inevitable end of the world “if this goes on.”  Heinlein does this a lot.  In Puppet Masters, for instance, the timing device consists of showing us how much worse things are getting.  In the Moon Is A Harsh Mistress, from the knowledge that eventually Earth will come and “spank baby” so that all their progress in the revolution also hastens this climax.

BUT the timing device is there, everywhere.  TRUST me.

So, go find a mystery, a science fiction or fantasy and a romance.  Make it stuff you’ve read before, if you can.  Now, isolate the timing device in each.  Why is it there?  What’s its effect on the plot and your sense of the “timing” and “urgency” of the book?

Now, how do you apply that to your own writing?