When I was a child, my favorite ride was the merry-go-round. At that age, it was enough to climb up on the painted horsies and go round and round and round. But when I grew bigger, I needed more of a challenge. I wanted to go somewhere on a real horse. 

We didn’t know any horse owners, so we drove to a place called Trail’s End Ranch in Chickamauga, GA for a guided tour through the dense forest of the Chickamauga battlefield. There, I learned how to saddle the horses, how to mount and steer them and how to hold on with my knees. I was ready to go. 

The first horse I rode was young and spry, with an urgent need for speed. I was so busy screaming I didn't have time to notice anything. When I finally slid out of his saddle, heart pumping, I swore I’d never get on a horse again. 

But I didn’t mean it.

The second horse I tried was old and slow, who had an urgent need for a rocking chair. Honestly, I could’ve made better time crawling on my stomach. I was hot and bored and wondering why on earth I ever wanted to ride a horse in the first place.  

Finally, I met the epitome of stability. My third horse was confident, humble and without a thing to prove. He carried me at a nice steady pace like a professional tour guide. And, as you can see, I’ve never forgotten him. Hmm, wonder if he married, had kids and lived a long productive life?

But I digress.

The point of my little horse memory is this: pace is crucial. It plays a huge part in determining whether folks enjoy the overall ride. And that’s as applicable for a story as it is for a horse ride.  

We may have the best idea since the creation of the Universe, but it means nothing if it moves at the speed of light. Of course we want to hold the reader’s attention, but we don’t need to fly through scenes as if we’re shot out of a cannon. Readers are left breathless, confused, unable to attach to the characters or their surroundings. The entire story goes by like one gigantic blur. This is when agents and editors begin to wonder: Have I been in a coma? When did she get married, let alone have three kids and save the world?

We may have the most melodious prose ever written in the history of humankind, but it means nothing if our character never leaves his chair. It’s easy to get lost in backstories and flashbacks, but when all is said and done, none of these techniques advance the story one iota. After they’ve arrived at their eloquent end, the main character is still sitting in his chair. That's why it's best to sprinkle historical facts throughout instead of dumping them all in one chapter. Otherwise, agents and editors will think: That guy hasn't moved in the past twenty pages! Is he dead? Does he have a goal? Is there a point to this story? 

Granted, determining pace only becomes apparent after we’ve written the story. How can we set the speed when we don’t yet know the condition of the road? But once we’ve traveled it, found the right path through it, we ought to assume the role of confident tour guides. As such, we'll instinctually know when to slow down, when to speed up, when to skip over the trivial stuff and when to briefly stop at that one moment when everything changes. 

But always, from the first line to the last, we will create a sense of movement, a consistent progression. Each scene builds on the one before it until it reaches that specific destination just beyond the horizon. This is when agents and editors sit back and say, Ahh, here’s a writer who knows where she’s going. Must read more.

IN A NUTSHELL
Git along, little doggies.