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Hook and Anchor: it sounds like the name of an olde-worlde pub in an English seaside town, doesn’t it? For writers, the notion of a ‘hook’ is very familiar. We know it’s crucial to grab readers and reel them in. We know that opening scenes – even opening words – can perform that crucial function.
Hooks are fun. Hooks are actually quite easy: the big explosion, the woman in a red dress arriving at the party, the secret box of letters left in a will, the old man on his death-bed deciding to confide his crime, the young lovers whose eyes meet across the room. Hooks create curiosity. They shock us, transfix us, get us involved, make us ask questions. Hooks are often part of what’s known as the inciting incident. They are the speedy creation of momentum, like the bobsleigh athletes who galvanise themselves into a run, leaping onto their sled once it has reached the required velocity.
Three cheers for hooks, then. What, though, do I mean when I mention anchors? Anchors are techniques you may not be paying enough attention to. Anchors are less showy but just as necessary. Anchors are all about keeping the reader’s attention, now that you have it. Anchors give context and substance to the whole.
You might think that an anchor is a static concept. You drop the anchor, the vessel halts and stays where you want it. But not all anchors are about stopping. They are about stabilising. There are trailing anchors which help to slow and direct the vessel. They stop it rushing off towards disaster.
What does an anchor mean when you are writing a book? I could have used other maritime terms: ballast, navigation, compass – and so on. I’ve been an editor for thirteen years now and I see many of the same problems again and again. What I am discussing here is a thinness, a vagueness, a lightness and disconnectedness which stops the reader believing or prevents them from inhabiting the world of the story.
In the quest for pace, writers often lose sight of what keeps the story anchored in the reader’s mind, so here are the ‘anchors’ you should check are there:
· It’s crucial not to infodump in the early stages of your story, but as you progress make sure enough of the background and backstory has actually made it onto the page. Do it in a filtered, light-touch way, but do it.
· Description. Again, you don’t want to include three pages of purple prose every time a character does something, but as an editor all too often I find writers have failed to realise the scene in terms of description and atmosphere, because they are so focused on pushing the narrative forward. Whole conversations take place in a restaurant where there is no mention of the room, the attentive waiters, the kind of food, the pausing to chew or wait for a glass to be filled, the buzz of other diners …
· Physical description. Judiciously chosen small details can give us a full sense of the characters. Your people are not just names and functions. A character can have a surprisingly deep voice, a mole they are conscious of and try to cover, a dodgy knee, long or stubby fingers, a heightened gag reflex, strawberry blonde hair. Let your reader see them and have a sense of their physical presence in the world.
· Locations – like description in general, watch out for being vague or generic. What house does the character live in? What kind of street is that? Lined with poplars, magnolias or jacarandas? Do the windows have nets or shutters? How far is the house from the nearest pub or shop? What’s the neighbourhood like?
· Chronology. I am ending with this one because it is so easily missed out. Your reader needs a timeline they can follow. Watch out for a lack of specificity and consistency: I see this so frequently. The reader is told a scene takes place but they can’t relate it to what has come before – is it a week or a month or a year since the last encounter those characters had? How old is that character now? Days of the week, months, even seasons are not mentioned. This often happens because the writer hasn’t constructed a timeline as their own anchor during the process. Instead they have written scene after individual scene, each one a perfect pearl of composition, but forgotten to thread them on the string of the overall chronology. Remember to use guiding words and phrases, within the narrative (‘A week later…’; ‘the first Saturday of Lent…’) and as headings at the start of chapters or sections if your novel involves a complicated chronology. Keep your reader oriented in time and space.
Let’s end with a quotation from the novelist William Boyd, interviewed in 2018:
‘It’s very difficult to write a long novel that holds your attention. It’s hard to write a 350-page story that remains compelling from start to finish. You can write beautifully, but the actual narrative spine that makes people read on to find out what happens next is very hard.’
‘Spine’ is another word we’re familiar with, as writers. We look for the structure and shape. But don’t forget those anchors too: they are the reinforcements that bolster the spine and hold it together.
