I’ve got rhythm
How many songs say that? A whole lot. But as a writer you need rhythm too. Rhythm is what keeps our writing from feeling stale. How many times have you sat down to read a 500 word essay and felt that it was interminable, but a 5,000 word story slipped by so quickly you were sad that it was over? The story had what the essay didn’t: rhythm.
Rhythm is any change or break in the way your writing operates, and it’s a good thing. While you don’t want to shift styles entirely, you should explore the limits of the style you write in by changing up length, emotion, and structure. These changes prevent your reader from getting tired or starting to skim. Let’s dive a little deeper.
Length
Your story or essay is made of a bunch of different parts, and each part has a length associated with it. Varying the length of each part can add interest, drama, or focus to your writing.
Paragraph length
After you’ve finished writing, look at your work. No, don’t read it. Look at it. What does it look like?
Even without knowing what this says (it says nothing, y’all, lorem ipsum is just filler text) one block of text looks more interesting, right? That’s because the paragraphs aren’t all the same length. While you’re not necessarily conscious of paragraph length while you’re reading, trust me, your subconscious is alertly filing away “yep, just like last time” which will make each paragraph seem similar no matter what it contains.
Sentence length
Sentence length, too, is important. Short sentences are punchy. Long sentences have a tendency to be drawn-out, lyrical, lulling the reader smoothly into your next proposition or image.
But no matter whether you’re writing in choppy, declarative phrasing or creating a prose poem, it’s important to change up your sentence length so that you’re not either constantly shouting at the reader in brief soundbites or lulling them into such a trance state that they lose track of what you’re saying. Once a reader’s brain thinks it has the measure of your work, it starts to skim through looking for the next “different” thing. Making sure that you change your length every few sentences keeps the brain guessing and engaged with your work.
Word length
The fictioneers have heard me go on at length (see what I did there) about what a friend of mine calls “dying wizard voice.” That’s when a writer tries to use all their very most important words at once. It’s great if you have a five-dollar-word vocabulary. It’s fantastic if you have an even bigger one. But if you use all your longest words in an attempt to come off as erudite, you’re just going to appear affected and pedantic. Use long, precise words where the text calls for it, use simple, clear ones elsewhere, and know your audience.
Emotion
There are few things more exhausting than reading 500, 1,000, or even more words that are all the same emotion. It’s a slog, no matter how well it’s written. Whether you’re writing humorously or profoundly, it’s important to leaven your writing with contrasting emotion.
Since we’re talking about rhythm, let’s talk about emotion like a heartbeat, systolic and diastolic working together to let the reader tense and relax along with you. What are some specific rhythms you can think of? I’ll lay out a few of my own here:
Snow White. This is a story that’s deeply dependent on rhythm, especially the original version. In the version I grew up with, the wicked stepmother comes to the dwarves’ cottage three times bearing different gifts. Each time, the reader worries about Snow White: she’s so kind and loving and at peace, then the stepmother shows up with a girdle or apple or other gift. The gift is tainted; Snow White is injured. The dwarves, and eventually the prince, rescue her. With this rising and falling of tension and relief, the story builds to its climax. It wouldn’t be the same story if the stepmother had constant access to abuse Snow White, who was never rescued, or if Snow White were always happy in the charming tiny cottage in the forest.
Literally any horror film, but especially Army of Darkness (and can we please get Season 3 of Ash v. Evil Dead because I mean come on). Horror flicks don’t function on nonstop tension. They function on a formula of “what’s that noise” and then the big reveal, either “it’s the cat” or “it’s a puppet that’s actually possessed by your grandfather who hated you.” If the “it’s the cat” reveal never happened, people would leave the theater in droves. You need relief to feel fear properly.
Old Yeller. I know. I know. Spoiler: the dog dies. This is an example of a mostly happy story that’s leavened by fear and sadness, the inverse of what we’ve been talking about. Without the ending, this would be “a story about a boy and a dog doing some normal stuff.” For the inverse, check out Marley and Me, the very good story of a very bad dog.
All these examples have something in common, have you noticed? They don’t carry one idea or emotion through the entire story. They pick one to focus on, and then add contrast. Stories need to be like Chex Mix, people. Sweet and salty.
Structure
Quick: What’s your favorite punctuation mark? Is it the colon? The parenthesis? The ellipsis?
Try to spend most of your next essay not using it. See what happens.
When you overuse a structure (my boogeyman is the complex sentence broken up by a semicolon) your work will… say it with me… start to sound the same throughout, no matter what words you’re using. Break it up. Look back at your work without reading it, and try to make sure you haven’t recycled the same structure throughout. I don’t care if that’s a dialogue, a “this happened then lol that happened” setup, or a three-item list (I’m looking at you, David Foster Wallace), recycling structures makes your writing drone on.
Change.
It.
Up.
See what I mean? You were really paying attention there for a minute. Now, before I lose you: Go take this lesson to your essays and stories. Figure out what your rhythm is. Who could ask for anything more?
