Pacing is key in stories. If your pacing is off, an editor, agent, or reader will get bored with your book. One key element in getting your pacing just right is narrative balance. Narrative balance is the ratio of dialogue to narration in a text. Page after page of narration bogs down the pacing and becomes boring for the reader. Conversely, extended scenes of just dialogue reads too quickly, and the reader gets lost. The appropriate balance between dialogue and narration will ensure the pacing is just right for your scene.
Story Pacing and Narrative Balance
So what is the best balance between dialogue and narration? The answer depends on what is happening in your scene. For some scenes, the scale will tip more one way or the other. Pacing flows up and down like the graphs in trigonometry. (Sorry if you cringed.) Imagine each scene has a number for how fast or slow it is based on the amount of tension. Some scenes are fast paced and peak high, others are slower and ebb low. Readers love the action and excitement of the fast-paced parts, but they also need slower paced parts to digest what they’re reading. Slower places will be a bit heavier on narration.
Finding Spots that Need More Balance
One good trick is to skim your story and look for places that have long stretches of either dialogue or narration. Keep in mind that yes, some places will have more of one or the other, but you shouldn’t see big blocks of just one page after page. When you do see a spot that is unbalanced, how can you add more of what’s missing? Often you can shift pieces around or insert a few lines and not have to rewrite the whole scene. Here is an abbreviated example:
Unbalanced Narrative:
Leaves danced across the sidewalk in front of Leeman. He clutched his jacket tighter. In a few short weeks winter would come, along with his sister, Georgia. She’d give him the customary smile and hug, all while scanning over every inch of his person, noting imperfections she’d bring up casually later over tea. A car splashed through a puddle, nearly soaking his loafers in the runoff of an over-commercialized society and ruining his morning walk.
People used to be proud of the streets in this town. They planted red geraniums in the summer and lined the sidewalk with small American flags, celebrating the excellence of this country. He kicked a cigarette butt toward the dirt. Georgia smoked Black and Mild cigars, said she loved the smell. Just another way to fit in with the young kids, pretend she was better than him. She moved away and now nothing here was ever good enough for her.
Leeman turned the corner past the pawn shop and pulled out his keys. Bass boomed from a lowrider that crawled by. The driver focused ahead and refused to acknowledge Leeman’s glare. He jammed his key into the first lock, then the second, then the third. His door opened with a creak and he dropped his keys into the metal tray. The wall hook awaited his jacket and hat, and his newspaper sat on the coffee table where he left it. A gurgle announced the coffee pot’s awakening, right at 8:35.
His phone rang from his back pocket. Leeman glanced at the screen and grunted.
“Georgia.”
“I have great news, Lee. You’ll never believe who’s coming with me to visit you this year. Nancy! You remember her, don’t you? You two will get along just like old times, don’t you think?”
“I never said you could bring a friend.”
“Oh hush, you old grouch. You know we’ll all have a great time. Besides, Nancy and I already agreed we could share the bed in your guest room. Won’t it be fun? We can go to the theater and sixth street together. It’s still open, isn’t it? Or we can stop by Mitsy’s diner, she–”
“They’re closed. They’re all closed.”
This excerpt has heavy narration on top and all the dialogue at the end. Here is the same story reworked to be more balanced.
Balanced narrative:
Leaves danced across the sidewalk in front of Leeman. He clutched his jacket tighter. In a few short weeks winter would come, along with his sister, Georgia. She’d give him the customary smile and hug, all while scanning over every inch of his person, noting imperfections she’d bring up casually later over tea. A car splashed through a puddle, nearly soaking his loafers.
“Moron,” he yelled at the fading taillights. Almost ruined my morning walk.
He kicked a cigarette butt toward the dirt. People used to be proud of the streets in this town. They planted red geraniums in the summer and lined the sidewalk with small American flags, celebrating the excellence of this country.
His phone rang from his back pocket. Leeman glanced at the screen and grunted.
“Georgia.”
“I have great news, Lee.” She released a heavy exhale. Georgia smoked Black and Mild cigars, said she loved the smell. Just another way to fit in with the young kids, pretend she was better than him. “You’ll never believe who’s coming with me to visit you this year…Nancy.”
Memories of soft kisses and even softer words filled his mind. He quickly suppressed them. Of course Georgia would bring a guest. She moved away and now nothing here was ever good enough for her.
“You remember her, don’t you?” Georgia said. “You two will get along just like old times, don’t you think?”
Leeman turned the corner past the pawn shop and pulled out his keys. He ran his fingers over one key, now matted with a patina. He swallowed. “I never said you could bring a friend.”
Bass boomed from a lowrider that crawled by. The driver focused ahead and refused to acknowledge Leeman’s glare.
“Oh hush, you old grouch. You know we’ll have a great time.”
He jammed his house key into the first lock, then the second, then the third. “I don’t know about that.” His door opened with a creak and he dropped the key ring onto the metal tray.
“We can go to the theater and sixth street together. It’s still open, isn’t it? Or we can stop by Mitsy’s diner, she–”
“They’re closed. They’re all closed.” She should know this. He didn’t have time for Georgia’s nonsense or anything else. “I have to go.” He hung up.
The wall hook awaited his jacket and hat, and his newspaper sat on the coffee table where he left it. A gurgle announced the coffee pot’s awakening, right at 8:35.
Alternating back and forth between narration and dialogue helps the pacing and also allows me to layer in more detail in the second example. A big plus was that I was able to make the scene more active with better pacing without having to rewrite much.
Getting the right narrative balance is a skill that takes practice. Critique partners can help point out places where you may need to make some adjustments. It doesn’t necessarily mean you need to rewrite, so play with your lines and see what you can do.
