B&N Week 10: Pacing

I just checked the calendar, and it told me it’s Tuesday!

That means it’s Howdy Doody time! [Did I just date myself again? Do I hear a thunderous silence?]

Last week we talked more in depth about panel descriptions and camera angles, but that’s really only the beginning of actual scripting. Here’s where we begin talking about telling a story within a script. That starts with pacing.

What is pacing? Pacing covers a few moving parts, and they’re interconnected. If even one part is off, then it’ll be said that you’re pacing is off, and that can be very vague to say. Just like it takes a whole team to run a play in football, it takes all parts of pacing in order to get it right.

So what are the moving parts to pacing?

Pacing covers the number of words in a panel, the number of panels on a page, and the number of actions in the panel/page. Easy, right?

Wrong.

Pacing is a rabid, snarling beast that’s ready to chew you up, body and soul, and then spit you back out, laughing all the while, and never getting you caught in it’s teeth so that it needs a toothpick for a sticky bit. Lots of books aren’t going to delve much into pacing. Hell, the one book that I point beginners to all the time doesn’t really go into it. That book is The DC Guide to Writing Comics, and it’s a wonderful primer for beginners. However, as an editor, I find it sorely lacking in tons of spots. Again, I see it as just a primer, like a child given their first chapter book. It lays a great foundation, but it leaves a lot of work left out. These are things that I’m guessing the writer felt was best left to the editor working with new writers, and that’s all well and good. However, if you understand and implement the things I’m going to be telling you, you’re going to be ahead of the pack.

So, this week, we’re basically going to talk about Pacing.

I recently edited two scripts–one was for a friend, the other as a job–and these two scripts couldn’t have been more different than fire and water. The first script was pretty good with its pacing: the characters moved well from panel to panel and scene to scene, and I only had a little bit to do in the way of smoothing out some transitions. It started out kinda quietly, with a couple of flashbacks, and then went into action that rose steadily. Some implied violence, some guys getting thrown through windows, then guns, then a motorcycle fight with chainsaws. Yeah. My idea of a good time. As an editor, there was little to do with this script, which was amazing to me because this person had never written a comic in his life. He’s a full-time novelist by trade. (Aha! Novelist! Steven…) Wait. Before you get yourself all worked up, you have to understand that writing comics, while similar to writing a book in some respects, is still a totally different language. Not everyone can do it, and certainly not everyone can do it well their first time out. So, yes, I was impressed.

The other script I edited was different. The writer had the format down, but didn’t know how to effectively tell a story with it. This writer told a story in twenty eight pages that could have been done in sixteen, which leaves six pages for the standard twenty-two page story, which meant that he went an extra six pages from there, and in the end, nothing really happened. It started with an assassination, and then meandered all over the place: a strip club, the assassin’s home, someone else’s home, and then ended at a party where the assassin was to kill someone and they messed that up by talking to someone else while stalking their prey. At night. In a mostly deserted alley.

There was no pacing. [Hell, there was no plotting, which can help with the pacing.]

(Steven, you keep talking about it, just get to it already!)

Okay, okay.

Pacing. It’s going to be different for every story, but there are some guidelines you can follow. Signposts. There’s one thing you need to remember, though.

As a writer, the only thing you have COMPLETE mastery of is Time. You do this in a variety of ways: the number of panels on a page, the amount of time taken between panels, how large the panel itself is, whether or not there’s sound in the panel… Time in comics is HUGE, and only by thoroughly understanding it will you be able to utilize it well.

There are a lot of tricks with Time, but one of the most basic things you’re going to do is have a panel count. The more panels you have on a page, the slower your scene goes. The less panels you have on a page, the faster your scene goes.

Now, some may want to argue this point with me. (Argue with you, Steven? You don’t say…) They say that they’ve been told the opposite: the more panels, the faster it is, and the less panels, the slower because you have more time for reflection. (Yeah! What about that, huh?) I’m not going to say they’re wrong–that’s their reading experience–but I’m going to say that they’re not reading it correctly.

If you have a page that has ten panels on it, are you really going to tell me that it takes you a shorter time to read that than a page that has two or three panels on it? Let’s say you looked through each panel instead of just glancing at them. Is it still reversed for you?

I didn’t think so.

So, the more panels you have, the more you slow Time down, and the less panels, the more you speed it up. Scott McCloud goes into it a lot more in his treatise on comic book theory, Understanding Comics, which also happens to be the second book I tell every new writer to get. [And the order I mention them is the order I want you to read them, too. Understanding Comics comes after the DC Guide, not before. There are reasons for that. The DC Guide provides the how , Understanding Comics provides the why. ]

Now, most comics you read are going to have roughly five to seven panels per page. Some ambitious writers will go the nine-panel grid route, but that’s advanced writing and hard to sustain [and hard on your artist, to boot]. Remember that the more panels you have on the page, the smaller each panel has to be, so the less space you’re actually going to have per panel.

Action scenes need a snappy pace. (Well, duh!) If that’s so obvious, why do I continually read scripts that have six and seven panel pages for an action scene? (Well, that’s not me.) No, not anymore. But it WAS you, and you’re the reason I’m making this point.

Generally speaking, action scenes should have about four panels per page, and it should be rising action. They can lead to a splash page, but the action to that should be faster and faster, and then get to the splash, and then go slower and slower.

Here’s an example:

You have a chase scene. It’s five pages long. The first page has four panels. The second page has two panels. The third page is a splash. The fourth page has three panels, and the fifth has five.

This is a decent formula that will rarely steer you wrong for an action scene. Sure, you can lengthen the page count, just remember your comics makeup when it comes to turning points and page counts, and knowing which page lays where.

Now, for non-action, its generally acceptable to have five to seven panels [or more, depending] per page. It’s talking heads, sure, but the conversation has to be riveting, not to mention have a point.

You want to have roughly three scenes in your book, at least. I wouldn’t say more than five, but at least three. Those scenes can be broken up any way you want, but I don’t suggest all talking or all action. A nice mix of both, definitely, but not all of one or the other. Why? An all action book is a fast read, and difficult to care about. Action has its place as counterpoint to drama. An all action issue will be breezed through quickly, and then the reader will feel like they haven’t gotten their money’s worth. An all talking book? That better be a damned good conversation.

The length of your scenes are going to be dependent on the story you’re telling–your objective for that particular issue. Remember when we spoke about plotting? That plot you wrote will help with your pacing immensely. It will give you a rough page count, and you should already be seeing particular panels in your head that you want to incorporate in those scenes.

A few words about splash pages.

Reading the DC Guide, it will tell you that a splash page is generally a page with the title and where the credits go, and that lots of writers today use the term splash page incorrectly, really meaning a full page shot. I’m not going to go against Denny. However, I’m going to say that the term splash is becoming more and more interchangeable with Full Page Shot.

When possible, unless you’re starting the book with one, these should be on the left hand side if possible. The reason? Because you have to turn the page to get there. A splash page/full page shot should be a dramatic, powerful image. You don’t want that image to be on the right-hand side if you can help it because it loses some impact if you don’t have to turn the page to get there. It’s a psychological thing that you’re probably not even aware of. The splash/fps [not first person shooter] should come as something of a surprise, even if you can feel it’s coming because of rising dramatic tension/action. Placing them on the left whenever possible will help with that.

Also, watch the amount of splash pages you use. One or two per issue is a great number, three can be okay, but anything over three should be a no-go. [There could be a small correlation between the number of scenes you have per issue and the number of splashes per issue, but it’s tenuous at best.] More than three will be seen [probably correctly] as padding, and that’s not something you want to do.

There’s also a double-page splash, and it means just what you think: a splash page over two pages. The most important thing to remember about this is to watch where they fall. It should always, always, ALWAYS be even-odd, and never odd-even. Why? Because of the page count.

Time for a quick counting lesson.

If P1 starts your book, and it’s on the right hand side, then when you turn the page, P2 falls on the left, and P3 on the right. So, even pages fall on the left, and odd pages fall on the right. With me so far? So, for a double-page splash, it HAS to start on the left and finish on the right. It has to start even and end odd. (I get it, but it sounds strange.) I know. Go with it.

Now, as a general rule, you shouldn’t have more than one double-page splash per issue. Your story more than likely won’t need it, and you’re eating up real estate [pages] that you can use to better effect, such as moving the story forward. The rules for leading up to a double-splash remain the same as for a regular splash page.

And now, I guess it’s time to talk a little bit about dialogue, but only as it pertains to pacing. Dialogue itself is another discussion totally. And yes, you’ll hear some of this again. Comics are a web, with each part dependent upon the next.

Words. When it comes to pacing, words are very important. I’m talking about the amount said, not what or how it’s said. This equation is overly simplistic, but the rules for dialogue are no longer absolutely sound. There used to be a guide for the amount of words per page, even per panel, but there’s been enough change with storytelling techniques that these can go out the window. Just know that it’s not a big window, which means we get to keep some of it.

Simply put, the more words you have, the more art you cover. I remember the first time I saw pages of my very first comic produced. It was awesome! The artwork was beautiful, and I didn’t want to cover it up with my drivel. However, this is the time when you first realize that it’s a comic book, and although you don’t want to cover the pretty pictures with mere words, you have to.

So, the more words you have, the more art you cover. Simple. Elegant. But there’s more!

The number of words you have should be in direct inverse proportion to the amount of panels you have on the page. The more panels, the less words per panel. (Duh, Steven. Boy, I say that a lot, don’t I?) Yes, you do, but if I didn’t have to say it, I wouldn’t.

New writers want to put fifteen panels on a page, and have Shakespearian soliloquies in each, and there just isn’t enough space for that. So you have to watch the amount of words you have both per panel and per page. Now, the opposite is also true–the less panels, the more words you can carry per page.

(So, Steven, what was the formula that you think no longer applies?)

Thirty-five words per panel. That’s a ton, but it’s also very easy to chew through. This paragraph alone has twenty-one words.

Something to think about.

Now, with thirty-five words per panel, the second rule was that no balloon should contain more than twenty-five of them. More than that, and it would look too big and cover artwork.

Now, if you have six panels, you’ve got a maximum of 210 [!] words per page. Slice and dice that any way you wish. [And these were DC standards given to Alan Moore by an editor there. Argue with the master about it if you wish.]

Even though I don’t hold tightly to this, I think it’s a great place for new writers to start. You get a nice mix of art and words. Balance, Writer-san.

I also promised one of my pet peeves, and I might as well go over it here. That pet peeve is silent opening pages.

I don’t advocate the use of a silent page to start a brand new series. You have WAY too much work ahead of you as the writer in setting up the series and the scenario than to try to start off a brand new Pen-Man series with a silent page. In the late 70s and early 80s, there was a saying going around that still holds true today, even though you don’t hear it often: every comic is someone’s first. Now if you, as the creator of Pen-Man, are trying to start his adventures out with a silent first page, I will say that you’re wrong, no matter how powerful the image is. If it’s that powerful, then save it for the end, when you’ve built something up to justify it.

So, that’s my own personal first rule of silent pages: no silent pages to start a brand new series. The reader hasn’t earned it yet. As the writer, neither have you.

Now, that isn’t to say that you shouldn’t do it with established characters.

Let’s say Marvel decided to start Web of Spider-Man up again [actually, I have a pretty good take on what that should be, but we’ll leave it for now]. I think it would be permissible to start the very first issue with a silent page. Even though every comic is someone’s first, it’s the rare person in America that hasn’t heard about Spider-Man and know at least a little something about him. So, you have to know what battle you’re fighting.

My second personal rule is that newbies shouldn’t try to start an issue with a silent page. This is VERY close to the first one, and the reason is simple: they don’t know what they’re doing.

Harsh, I know, however, it’s also true. Look around the ‘net and read some scripts, and you’ll see varying degrees of success. Most of them have their problems. I’d go so far as to say the bulk of them. Now, picture a newbie who’s already proven they don’t know what they’re doing, trying to start out a story with a silent page.

Yeah, gives me chills, too.

When to use silent pages? A great place [the best, in my opinion] is the very last page of the issue. However, you had to have earned it. You had to have built up to it, so that it pays off. If you haven’t, it’s just a waste of space, and I’ll call you on it every time.

Silent panels are good whenever you need them. They provide a nice beat in the story, letting whatever was said last sink in, or provide tension to build up what’s about to be said next, or because and emotionally fraught/something so awesome just happened/bombshell dropped that it doesn’t need words to convey it. See Ultimate Spider-Man for great uses of silent panels.

Basically, to paraphrase Kenny Rogers, you gotta know when to use ’em.

Okay, end of rant.

Homework: it’s counting. Easy, right? I want you to count a few things, because we spoke about a lot today. I want you to take a few comics and count the number of scenes in them, and how many pages each scene is. More importantly, I want you to count the panels per page in a few scenes for both action and drama. Then I want you to count the words both per panel and per page, for different scenes. Write all of these down.

Once you’ve done that, I want you to take a script you’ve written and do the same thing as above, and compare the two. Then we can come back and discuss your findings.

And you thought writing comics was easy…

Anyway, next week we’ll talk about dialogue in all of its forms. Until then, as my favorite chef used to say, I bid you peace.

Related Posts:

• TPG Week 71: The Final Draft Trap
• TPG Week 197: Another Resubmission That Didn’t Learn
• TPG Week 146: Keeping Reader Interest
• TPG Week 145: Too Much Stuff In The Bag
• TPG Week 144: Words On Paper

Tags: action, counting, dialogue, double splash page, pacing, rant, scripting, splash page, time, Writing

Category: Bolts & Nuts