“Time…is what keeps everything from happening at once.” – Ray Cummings

Continuity, it might be said, constitutes the most vital manner of nitpicking all writers must deal with.  When writing, it’s easy to slip into a groove, just letting the words flow as they come, yet in doing so one risks tripping over one’s own words, contradicting what was said earlier or allowing the same event to occur multiple times.  Thus, checking for continuity is among the most important tasks during structural editing, especially when writing science fiction, a genre whose readers are notoriously meticulous, and eager to point out even minor flaws.

Yet, just as important in all forms of writing is chronology.  While it’s important to make certain that no event in a story contradicts the material preceding it, it’s far more elementary to decide when, exactly, everything happens.

Writing fiction is a maddening pursuit in that it calls upon a writer to recount events that never actually took place.  A good novel must be built upon a sound timeline, with events progressing organically, so as to produce a work that flows in a manner that suggests events that could, plausibly, have happened.  Try to make things happen too quickly, and the reader will find it difficult to believe.  Allow the story to plod along slowly, and you lose them.

While my current work in progress, Pathfinder, is built upon a firm timeline of events (with assigned dates, no less), in Wide Horizon I wrote more loosely, throwing in periodic suggestions of time but largely ignoring the subject.  I feel this helps the story to flow, allowing the reader to focus on the action and the evolving relationships between the characters without getting hung up on when, exactly, various events take place.

The big question that remains is when should various events take place?  When does this conversation take place?  When is this character introduced?  Sure, I know this, but when should my characters know it?    One would think these easy questions to answer; after all, I am the one writing.  I decide when everything happens.  However, even a minor rearranging of seemingly trivial events can have a profound effect on character development.

As expected, I breezed through much of the bulk of Part 2 of Wide Horizon.  I did indeed make several minor changes, and I feel very good about them, but overall this portion of the edit was a cakewalk.  Yet now, as I approach the climax of the novel, I find myself toying around with one particular section, trying to decide where, exactly, it belongs in my timeline.

For the benefit of those who’ve yet to read Wide Horizon, I’ll keep details to a minimum.  Suffice to say that the climax of the novel is a long, multi-faceted affair covering several chapters.  Essentially, while most of Part 2 follows a basic fundamental premise, over the course of its final chapters the crew of the eponymous vessel discover that nothing they’ve witnessed is as it seems.  Their entire reality is torn apart, and it all begins with betrayal.  Upon learning his love interest misrepresented herself, my protagonist, Braylen Roads, finds himself questioning his ability to lead.  Over time, he reconciles with his love interest, Daena.  When that happens, however, is a matter I’m yet unsure of.

In my first draft, their reconciliation began with a brief exchange not long after the initial revelation.  In addition to feeling I was rushing things, I later found the entire section of dialogue canned and stilted, to the point of being irredeemable.  Thus, that section was among the first to be cut during revision.

At the time, I was content to leave the romantic subplot unresolved for a time, as I felt a romantic scene would interfere with the events of the climax.  However, in order for Part 3 to work properly, a resolution was required prior to the end of Part 2.  The result was a romantic exchange near the end of Part 2; while the scene had been part of the first draft, I expanded and reworked it slightly to serve as the resolution as well.  While I’m fairly happy with how the scene itself turned out, I feel the placement, shoehorned into the pivotal final chapters, leaves much to be desired.  My editor strongly agreed, noting that the romantic interlude seemed out of place in the midst of the action, suggesting my main character lacked a sense of priorities.

So, I’ve decided I need to hit the brakes and think about this for a moment.  This scene needs to happen, but I need to find a place for it that doesn’t suggest the captain of the Wide Horizon would take time out during a crisis to while away a few hours with his girlfriend.  I know there’s a way to work this in, and hopefully the final chapters of my climax will flow better without this hot-blooded non sequitur.

Once that’s out of the way, I face my next great test: the all-important climax.