One-line paragraphs are powerful tools that pull readers into your story and compel them to turn the page. This post explores why they work and offers some examples of smashing shorties that pack a punch!
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The memories arrive in a blink.
One moment nothing. The next, he knows exactly where he is, the full trajectory of his life since Helena found him, and exactly what the equations on the blackboard mean. Because he wrote them. They're extrapolations of the Schwarzschild solution, an equation that defines what the radius of an object must be, based upon its mass, in order to form a singularity. That singularity then forms an Einstein-Rosen wormhole that can, in theory, instantaneously connect far-flung regions of space and even time. |
There was more tapping, more tracking, and then colours on the screen were almost too much. The blacks were up so far that gray spots bubbled through the midnight fields.
Charlie suggested, “Use the blue on the lockers as a color guide. They’re close to the same blue as Dad’s funeral suit. Ben opened the color chart. He clicked on random squares. “That’s it,” Charlie said. “That’s the blue.” “I can clean it up more.” He sharpened the pixels. Smoothed out the edges. Finally, he zoomed in as close as he could without distorting the image into nothing. “Holy shit,” Charlie said. She finally got it. Not a leg, but an arm. Not one arm, but two. One black. One red. A sexual cannibal. A slash of red. A venomous bite. They had not found Rusty’s unicorn. They had found a black widow. |
Respect, yes. Bow, no. I also don’t use these techniques,
per the platitude, “only for self-defense,” an obvious untruth on the level of “the check is in the mail” or “don’t worry, I’ll pull out.” I use what I learn to defeat my enemies, no matter who the aggressor happens to be (usually: me). I like violence. I like it a lot. I don’t condone it for others. I condone it for me. I don’t fight as a last resort. I fight whenever I can. I don’t try to avoid trouble. I actively seek it out. After I finish with the bag, I bench-press, powerlift, squat. When I was younger, I’d have various lifting days—arm days, chest days, leg days. When I reached my forties, I found it paid to lift less often and with more variety. |
“You had to stick your fucking neb in, didn’t ya? You had to open your big yapper. Can’t you fucking take a hint? After all them ciggies we give you too,” he said.
He raised the gun. I closed my eyes. Held my breath. A bang. Silence. When I opened my eyes again Bobby Cameron was staring at me and shaking his head. Billy White was dead to my left with the back of his head blown off. |
The next morning, to my undying shame, I did not withdraw my request. I had the time of my life at camp that summer, and I know now that my father, so desperate for me to go that he was in terrible pain, had millions of dollars that he refused to touch.
Money that he did not make delivering newspapers. [Chapter ends] |
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Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired old town when I first knew it. In rainy weather the streets turned to red slop; grass grew on the sidewalks, the court-house sagged in the square. Somehow, it was hotter then; a black dog suffered on a summer’s day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. Men’s stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three o’clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft tea-cakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.
People moved slowly then. They ambled across the square, shuffled in and out of the stores around it, took their time about everything. A day was twenty-four hours long but seemed longer. There was no hurry, for there was nowhere to go, nothing to buy and no money to buy it with, nothing to see outside the boundaries of Maycomb County. But it was a time of vague optimism for some of the people: Maycomb County had recently been told that it had nothing to fear but fear itself. |
‘I’ plus filter word. Reader’s gaze is inwards, on the how
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Recast: Reader’s gaze drawn outwards towards the what
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I recall the argument we had last week.
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Last week’s argument is still fresh in my mind.
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I recognized the man’s face.
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The man’s face was familiar.
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I saw the guy turn left and dart into the alley.
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The guy turned left and darted into the alley.
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I spotted the red Chevy from yesterday parked outside the bank.
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There, parked outside the bank, was the same red Chevy from yesterday.
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I still feel ashamed about the vile words I unleashed even after all these years.
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The vile words I unleashed still have the power to bathe me in shame even after all these years.
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‘I’-centred introspection
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‘I’-less introspection
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I wasn’t sure if Shami was a reliable witness but I couldn’t afford to ignore her, given what she’d divulged.
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Was Shami a reliable witness? Maybe, maybe not. She couldn’t be ignored given what she’d divulged.
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I still didn’t know who the killer was.
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The killer’s identity was still a mystery.
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I wondered whether Shami was a reliable witness.
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Shami might or might not be a reliable witness.
Shami’s reliability as a witness was hardly a given. Shami’s reliability as a witness was questionable. |
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THE PROOFREADING CHECKLIST
My preference is to carry out each check discretely so that I can focus on the specific task in hand rather than trying to spot different kinds of errors at the same time.
A free copy is available when you sign up to The Editorial Letter. |
STYLES I TYPICALLY SET UP
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MACROS I TYPICALLY RUN
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WHAT I DO
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CHARACTER-ROLE KEY
PR = protagonist
MC = major character SC = secondary character |
NARRATION-STYLES KEY
3PL = third-person limited
3PO = third-person objective 1P = first person |
Ch/Sec
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POV char
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Role
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Style
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Notes
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1
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Cal Weaver
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PR
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1P
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We start the book by meeting our protagonist, Cal. The first-person narration style places the reader firmly in his head. We’re in his mind, experiencing his thoughts, emotions and senses with him.
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2
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Barry Duckworth
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MC
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3PL
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We meet new viewpoint character, a detective called Barry. His chapters are always narrated in third-person limited. There’s a smattering of free indirect style – third-person narration that has the essence of first person – such that even though the pronoun used is ‘he’, the reader still sees, hears, thinks and feels along with Barry. Multiple chapters are offered from this major character’s viewpoint.
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3
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Cal Weaver
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PR
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1P
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--
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4
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Barry Duckworth
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MC
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3PL
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--
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5
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Cal Weaver
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PR
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1P
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--
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6
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Barry Duckworth
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MC
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3PL
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--
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7
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Cal Weaver
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PR
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1P
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--
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8
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Barry Duckworth
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MC
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3PL
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--
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9
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Cal Weaver
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PR
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1P
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--
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10/A
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Monica Gaffney
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SC
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3PO
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The reportage feel of the prose means it’s only just obvious that we’re experiencing the world through Monica’s lens.
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10/B
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Monica Gaffney
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SC
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3PL
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In this section, we’re drawn deeper into Monica’s emotional experience – a third-person-limited narration through which we access her thoughts.
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10/C
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Albert Gaffney
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SC
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3PL
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We shift to a new viewpoint character, that of Albert Gaffney (Monica’s father). The limited narration allows us to access an emotional response (e.g. ‘He steeled himself’).
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11
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Barry Duckworth
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MC
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3PL
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--
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12
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Cal Weaver
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PR
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1P
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--
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13
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Trevor Duckworth
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SC
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3PO
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Now we’re in the head of Barry’s son, Trevor. The third-person narration style is objective for the most part, but firmly rooted in Trevor’s experience.
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14
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Brian Gaffney
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SC
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3PL
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The POV character is now Brian, Monica’s brother. The author enhances the third-person limited narration with free indirect speech (e.g. ‘It sure was nice to get out of the hospital. Even though his family had come to see him, the visit had stressed him out.’) to narrow the narrative distance between the reader and the character, and root us in Brian’s head.
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15
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Barry Duckworth
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MC
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3PL
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--
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16
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Cal Weaver
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PR
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1P
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--
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17
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Barry Duckworth
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MC
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3PL
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--
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On The Editing Podcast: How to edit for consistency and style |
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