Making it Worth $300,000

I've been reading through a thick writer's guide called The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing, a compilation of articles, advice, and interviews from successful authors. All of it has been very helpful, but chapter eight stuck out to me as one of the most useful tools in novel writing. Les Standiford's "What I Stole from Movies" talks about writing a novel like a screenwriter would put together a movie. If a producer has $30 million to work with, and plans on one hundred scenes, each scene is going to cost $300,000 and he has to make each scene worth his money. Similarly, when writing a book, no matter how many scenes I include (whether a whole chapter as one or five scenes in one chapter) I must have the same mentality about capturing every last emotion, action, word, and expression. I must make each scene worth $300,000.

I had never thought about writing this way and realized that my novel would be so much more concise, brief, and vivid if I had to pay for each scene I wrote. So if I open my document with this in mind, how do I go about milking every last dollar's worth? Standiford says a good scene will do at least one of--but should strive for--three things:

• enrich setting/character
• provide necessary information to the reader
• move the plot forward 

Whether a slow scene or an action-packed scene, the contents should include brief description about setting, bringing it to life through detail that is inserted into the action. The character's actions, words, and emotions during the scene should be consistent and believable from what I've established early on. The scene should provide only necessary information to the reader, which often means cutting out the "fat" that bogs the story down. This might be unnecessary description or dialogue between characters. Moving the plot forward goes hand-in-hand with providing necessary information. If I include a scene between my lovers simply because I want them to flirt and stare googly-eyed at one another, this is not only unnecessary, but detracts from the advancement of the plot. Here is an example from Iron Bloom, the first written without these characteristics:

           Michael stared around the new smithy with a dismal expression. The small forge was equipped with everything he would need to conduct Sejanus' cruel bidding. A bloomery furnace was built into the farthest corner, a solid mass of blackened stone constructed around a clay-lined shaft that had an opening to shovel in coal and ore. Blocks of iron ore were stocked against the wall beneath a worktable, and he also had access to a water pump and every smelting tool imaginable. There was an anvil on the worktable with a two-headed hammer beside it, and with a pang, Michael remembered his father's tools at home.

In this first example, there's too much narrative clogging the action. We see the smithy clearly enough, but we don't see Michael. It's necessary to the reader to see Michael's new station, but that can be shown in fewer sentences. In addition, there's no insight into Michael's emotions or attitude toward the place. His character is not enriched in this paragraph, and the plot is staggered by too much description.
Here's the scene again, this time worth $300,000.

           Michael's eyes swept the new smithy, lines plowing his forehead. The small forge was equipped with everything he would need to conduct Sejanus’ cruel bidding. A bloomery furnace was built into the farthest corner, a solid mass of blackened stone constructed around a clay-lined shaft. Michael gave the large pair of bellows protruding from the bottom a few half-hearted pumps before inspecting the blocks of iron ore stocked against the wall beneath a worktable. He had access to a water pump and every smelting tool imaginable, but his hand found its way to the familiar pocks in the anvil, and then the two-headed hammer, weighty and worn, identical to the one in his father’s forge. His knuckles turned white and he dropped the hammer, hunching over the table as he shook with silent tears.

In this example, we see the forge through Michael's eyes. We see him pump the bellows, we feel the cold, bumpy anvil. We get enough descriptive detail without bogging down the action, and the plot is moving toward Michael's employment to Sejanus. We see his anguish in the tightening of his fist and his tears, and know that he blames himself for what happened to his father. His character is deepened through his actions and we can sense his emotions without having to write "Michael was anguished."

Makes scenes smaller and compile them into chapters so each paragraph will be rich, vivid, and emotional, building to the climax where the $300,000 really counts.