The Craft of Writing: Extending Scenes.
Novice writers often face a common problem: they write prose that turns out much too terse, and end up with finished manuscripts that are much too short. In this answer, I tried an experiment.The core problem is that many people approach a story as a sequence of events. Good writing isn’t just a sequence of events—this happens, then this happens, then this happens—it brings the reader along, it immerses the reader in the setting. This also, of course, makes the scenes longer.
Rather than simply explain how to make your writing more vivid (though I’ll do that too), I’ll actually write several versions of a scene to show how you can do it.
First, the explanation.
Generally speaking, you lengthen a scene by increasing the level of detail. It’s a bit like producing a higher resolution picture by capturing more pixels, in a way; you’re increasing the level of detail the readers see in their heads.
There are two different ways to think about writing fiction. When you first get started with fiction, you probably think that writing is about expressing a series of events on the page. That…isn’t actually what writing is about. Writing is about immersing the reader in a story. Properly understood, writing is about giving witness—about making the reader feel they’re immersed in, and witness to, the events. In that sense, therefore, the goal is not just to convey a series of events, but to convey what it is like to be present at those events. What does it feel like? What does it sound like?
More important, you’re giving an idea of why. Why do these events matter? What stake does the reader have in any of this?
When you think about this, your approach to how you write changes. Instead of asking “what are the events I need to write about?”, you think “What do I need to do to bring the reader along for the ride?”
What does that mean?
As an experiment, I decided to sit down and go through the process I might use to sketch out a scene, from a quick vision in my head to how I would actually write it. In a way, it’s like watching one of those old-fashioned progressive JPEGs appear in a browser window, where it starts off as a fuzzy low-resolution thing and then sort of materializes at higher and higher resolutions.
I wrote the examples here in real time: I thought up a scene just for the purpose of this answer, then went through it again and again to show the whole process from “idea for a scene” to “skeleton of a scene” to “fleshing out the scene” to “the final scene.” At each step the scene became longer and longer, since it’s far easier to show you how to make a scene longer than tell you how to make a scene longer.
I resolved, when I started this experiment, not to go back and edit; I went through the scene several times, fleshing it out each time, so you can see the whole process, for better or for worse. This is quite literally the first scene that popped into my head, so I make no representation about how interesting it is.
Ready? Here we go!
Round 1
The two soldiers climbed the hill, exhausted and restless. The taller of the two, the one in the lead, fidgeted anxiously. “I wish you’d stop doing that,” his companion grumbled. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Yeah? Good. You should be nervous.” He slowed as they approached top of the hill, where a wall of hard-packed earth jutted up. “Hold up.”
“What’s wrong?”
“We’re getting close.” He held out his hand. “Opening just ahead. Signal’s coming from inside.”
“Nothing about this makes sense,” his companion said. “The ship went down three kilometers from here. Why would they go through all the risk and trouble to steal it, only to end up crashing before they even got off-world? And then why drag it all this way and stash it in some hole? Something’s wrong.”
“Yeah, well, they ain’t payin’ us to think.”
They set up a perimeter with drones, then moved cautiously into the opening. There, in the center of the center of the cave, sat a long, low meal box on skids. “Holy shit,” the shorter man breathed. “Is that it?”
“Looks like it,” the taller man said. “Call it in, get the chopper and the rest of the men up here. We aren’t buyin’ drinks tonight.”
“I dunno, man, this still doesn’t add up. Something’s wrong—”
The drones sounded an alarm. From somewhere outside came the sound of gunfire. The taller man knelt by the case. “Give me a hand!”
“We’re under attack—”
“You know the orders. If we can’t guarantee retrieval, we destroy the warhead.” He opened the top of the case. “Oh, f—”
“What?”
“It isn’t here! It’s a setup!”
Word count: 273 words
Round 2
The two men struggled up the steep path, exhausted and restless, briefly silhouetted against one of the alien moons. A drone whirred overhead, skeletal and spidery, sensors scanning the terrain for heat and motion for hundreds of meters around.
The man in the lead, tall and athletic, paused to check his rifle. “I wish you’d quit doing that,” his companion said.
“Doing what?”
“Fidgeting. You’re making me nervous.”
“Maybe you should be nervous.”
“Maybe you should chill. Scanner says theres nothing within a kick of us any bigger’n a dormouse.”
“This place gives me the creeps.”
“Isn’t that what you joined up for? Explore the universe, see exotic planets, meet interesting people, blow them away?”
“I signed up for the tuition and medical. You slog through one alien world, you’ve slogged through them all. Hold up.” He slowed as they approached top of the hill. At its crown, a tall rampart of hard-packed earth jutted into the sky, a natural remnant of some centuries-old flood perhaps. A tiny display mounted to the edge of his helmet flipped down over one eye. “Signal’s close. There.” He pointed to a dark opening just ahead, a cave mouth opening into the side of the hill. “Must be why we didn’t pick it up from the air. Lotta iron in these rocks.”
The shorter man clutched his rifle tightly. Above him, the drone whirred, scanning for motion. “Yeah, well, something still doesn’t make sense.”
“Like what?”
“Any of it, man! Just…” He shook his head. “Think it through, man. You’ve just spent a fuckton of money, hired a team of mercs and a fast ship, busted into a secure facility all the way out on the ass end of nowhere, fought your way through sixteen kinds of hell, grabbed the you-know, and what? You just, like, run out of fuel or something sixteen klicks away?”
“Yeah, well, anyone can have a bad day. Combat’s what we call a fluid situation.”
“Okay, sure. Someone gets a lucky shot on you on the way out, shit happens. But then what? You go down all the way over there—“ He gestured vaguely in the direction they’d come, over the endless, trackless terrain. “Then you drag it all the way up here? Why? It doesn’t make any sense! Why not take a defensive position at the crash site, wait for your buddies to come?”
“Maybe they don’t have any buddies. Maybe there’s no second team. Maybe that’s all they got, and they rightly figured hanging out where they went down is not exactly conducive to a long life expectancy.”
“I just think—“
“See, that’s your problem. You got the wrong MOS. People like us, we ain’t paid to think.” The taller man took a long, thick canister from his rucksack, thumbed it open, and in a practiced gesture, ejected a dozen tiny drones. They arced overhead with nearly silent whirs, forming a hexagonal perimeter a few meters above the ground. A tiny light blinked in his eyepiece.
The two men flanked the opening to the cave. One of the marble-sized drones drifted in. “Holy shit,” the taller man said.
“There?”
“Yup.” Rifle ready, he slipped into the dark space. A powerful light on his helmet flicked on, casting a white light around a long, low fiberglass box in olive drab, black and yellow stripes on one end.
“Holy shit,” the shorter man breathed. “Is that it?”
“Looks like it,” the taller man said. “Call it in, get the chopper and the rest of the men up here. We ain’t buyin’ drinks tonight!”
“I dunno, man, this still doesn’t add up. Something’s wrong—”
A warning light blinked in the taller man’s eyepiece. “Drones are registering at least five hostiles inbound!” He knelt by the case. “Give me a hand!”
“We’re under attack—”
“You know the orders. If we can’t guarantee retrieval, we destroy the warhead.” He opened the top of the case. “Oh, f—”
“What?”
“It isn’t here! It’s a setup!”
Word count: 666 words
Round 3
The two men struggled up the steep path, jittery and exhausted. Low, scrubby plants crunched beneath their feet. The cold light of the larger moon cast its strange glow around them, turning the world into an abstract impressionist landscape of light and razor-edged shadows. The sharp acid tang of alien biology filled the air, subtle but unpleasant. The taller of the two led the way, rifle at the ready. A drone whirred overhead, skeletal and spidery, sensors scanning the terrain for heat and motion for hundreds of meters around.
He checked the side of his rifle, where glowing LEDs indicated a full magazine. “I wish you’d stop doing that,” his companion grumbled.
“Doing what?”
“Fidgeting. You’re making me nervous.”
“I think maybe nervousness is a highly appropriate emotional response to the current fucking situation.”
“Yeah, well, nothing showin’ up on the scanner any bigger’n a dormouse for at least three klicks around. You scared of dormice?”
“This whole place gives me the creeps.”
“Isn’t this what you joined up for? Explore the universe, slog through exotic planets, meet interesting people, blow them away?”
“Fuck that. I signed up for the tuition and medical.You slog through one alien world, you’ve slogged through them all. Funny how one swamp or desert looks pretty much like another, expect for the small…hold up.”
“What?”
“I spy with my flying eye, something that starts with C.” He moved his hand slightly, sending the drone forward. At the crown of the hill, a tall rampart of hard-packed earth jutted into the sky, a natural remnant of some centuries-old flood perhaps. A tiny display mounted to the edge of his helmet flipped down over one eye. “Cave opening, thirty meters ahead. Pickin’ up the beacon. We’re close. Some kinda interference, something, I don’t know.” He tapped the tiny helmet mounted display. “Lotta iron in these rocks. Might be why we didn’t pick it up from the air.”
The drone drifted back on station above the two men. The shorter of the two unslung his rifle. “Maybe.” Doubt tinged his voice. “Something doesn’t add up here.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Think this through, man. Say you want to raid a heavily fortified research facility in the ass end of nowhere and steal something shouldn’t even be there in the first place, right? You’re well-funded and highly motivated, so you spend a fuckton of dosh to hire the best mercs you can get your hands on, send them out in a fast ship, busted into the facility through sixteen kinds of hell, grabbed the you-know, and then what? You just go down less than sixteen klicks away because you forgot to check the gas or something?”
“Yeah, well, combat’s what we call a fluid situation. Maybe someone got off a lucky shot, took it down. Shit happens.”
“Maybe. But then what? You go down all the way over there—“ He gestured vaguely in the direction they’d come, over the endless, trackless terrain. “Then you leave the crash site, hump a very heavy crate all the way up here, stash it in some cave, and then bug out? Why? Why not wait for your buddies at the site?”
“If I knew we were on the way, I’d get the fuck out of Dodge too. They figured hanging out where they went down is not exactly conducive to a long life expectancy.”
“I just think—“
“See, that’s your problem. You got the wrong MOS. People like us, we ain’t paid to think.” The taller man took a long, thick canister from his rucksack, thumbed it open, and in a practiced gesture, ejected a dozen tiny drones. They arced overhead with nearly silent whirs, forming a hexagonal perimeter a few meters above the ground. His eyepiece glowed with a schematic, drone’s-eye view of the hill.
He gestured, a quick stabbing motion with his hand. Moving in uncanny silence, the two men flanked the dark gash of the cave mouth. The taller one gestured again, two fingers to his eyes, then the opening. His companion nodded. One of the tiny drones floated silently into the darkened space.
“Jackpot,” the taller man whispered. He nodded toward the opening. The men slipped through, rifles ready, one after the other, silent as ghosts.
A small spotlight on the taller man’s helmet flicked on, sending out a narrow beam of blue-white light. Dust sparkled in the air. He played the light around the walls of the small chamber, nondescript stone dusted with a fine white layer of frost. The air felt cold and still.
The drone hovered silent above a long, low fiberglass box in olive drab, black and yellow stripes on one end.
“Holy shit,” the shorter man breathed.
“Call it in,” the taller man said. Get the chopper in the air. We ain’t buyin’ drinks tonight!”
“I dunno, man, this still doesn’t add up. Something’s wrong—”
A warning light blinked in the taller man’s eyepiece. A quick rattle of gunfire from outside the cave boomed through the still air. “Drones are down!” the taller man said. “We’re blind!” He knelt by the case. “Give me a hand here!”
“We’re under attack—”
“You know the orders. If we can’t guarantee retrieval, we destroy the warhead.” He opened the top of the case. “Oh, f—”
“What?”
“It isn’t here! It’s a setup!”
Word count: 892 words
Now, I’m not saying this scene is any good, of course; it’s completely off the cuff. The point is to show how a scene might develop even when the bones remain the same, just by the addition of more detail.
The function of a story is to bring the reader in, to create a narrative that the reader feels like they’re witnessing. That means not going from event to event as quickly as possible, but supplying enough detail to let the reader picture the events, to let them feel like they’re there.
Give the reader more sensory information: not just what events happen, but what they sound like, smell like, look like, feel like. Including this kind of detail is a matter of practice, and it’s a big part of what happens in your second and third drafts.
It’s okay to do this after your first draft. A lot of writers ‘write lean’ in the first draft, sketching out the events of the narration in quick broad strokes, then going through the story again and increasing the resolution in the second draft. Do whatever you need to do to get the first draft out. If that means writing quick and lean, write quick and lean.
Then, when you go back through the story again, slow down. Close your eyes. Imagine the story unrolling in your mind like a movie. Not just “he moved the flashlight around until he saw the body;” imagine what that really looks like. “He panned the flashlight around the abandoned barn. Motes of dust sparkled in its beam. Bales of hay huddled against the wood wall, filling the air with a slightly sweet smell. Razor-sharp shadows crept across the wall as he swung the beam toward the center of the room, where…”
Same event, completely different feeling.
It’s totally normal for a second draft to be longer than the first, as you go in and add this sort of detail.