Why I have to occasionally skip ahead in books

DeAnna Pierce did a blog post on the Ten Commandments of Reading, and I enjoyed it, but I took issue with number 9 in which she said “No skipping to the end of the book.”  (When I say “take issue,” I don’t mean an outpouring of rabid, hand-waving anger. I simply mean calm, rational disagreement with a smile.)

Because I am one of those people who occasionally skips ahead in books.  I do it for particular reasons, and I think it is worth it to delve into those reasons, for the benefit of those who can’t imagine why anyone would do this. 

I know there are probably people who can’t fathom it. There are also authors who work very hard to ration out bread crumbs of information all along in their books until they can hit the reader with a gigantic reveal at the end that twists perceptions and turns everything upside down.   To these people, the notion that someone (like me) would skip to the end is tantamount to literary blasphemy, since reading the book out of order would disrupt the careful emotional experience they have worked so hard to evoke in the reader.

So let me tell you about the thought process I go through that leads to me deciding to skip to the end of a book.

There are some books out there that are very well written, and they suck me in like a tornado plowing through a mobile home community.  But I have a hard time dealing with books that pile mystery upon mystery upon mystery.  If everything happening is a mystery, if terms that are used are mysterious and not explained by context pretty quickly, if too many characters’ motives are mysterious, I start getting impatient.  I start to feel like the author is rubbing my face in all the mystery.  I start to doubt whether the author can pull off telling a good enough story that can engage me more than all the mystery irritates me. 

I know the author is setting things up. But the question rises of whether he/she can give a pay-off that really satisfies.  It has to be a really awesome pay-off to string me along, otherwise I’m going to be mad.  If the author is continually adding more story questions without answering any of them, I start to suspect that they won’t answer them, or that the pay-off won’t be enough to make all the set-up worth it.

So, how do I satisfy myself in this regard?  I skip to the end and read the last 50 pages or so. 

I can hear all the thriller and mystery writers shouting, “But that ruins the story if you know what happens at the end!” 

Let me ask you this—does it ruin the water slide ride to know that the ending is a dunk in a big pool of water?   No, it doesn’t. It’s a relief.  It’s something to look forward to.

Would you be comfortable getting on an inner-tube and riding into a dark tunnel after a water slide architect tells you, “This is my first ride I’ve ever had built and you’re not allowed to know how it ends except by going through it. Did you know that there are some exciting things like waterfalls and whirlpools involved?” You might want some reassurances.You might want a little more information before you let yourself go on that.

Or maybe a waterslide isn’t the best analogy. What about a roller coaster? Would you be comfortable going on one if you couldn’t see the end of it?  Especially if you knew there were roller coasters that hadn’t ended in happy places? 

When I read the last 50 pages, I am looking for awesome. I’m looking for drama and interest. If I can find it, that tells me the book’s middle is also going to be interesting, I will go back and read the whole book. And I will enjoy the ending even more because I know it will be awesome. And all the little things that didn’t make sense in the ending will then have new significance for me to appreciate because I have finally read the build-up.

But if the last 50 pages don’t have anything that I can tell is dramatic and amazing all by itself, that shows me that the author depended on all the little mysteries and reveals to create the climax and carry the ending.  And that seems pretty one-note to me.

Skipping to the ending is actually a good way of testing the writing skills of the author.  If the ending draws you in when you don’t know the middle of the story, then the author did an even better job than simply designing a linear experience. They made each part engaging.    Or, suppose you start at the end and read a few pages then, skip progressively closer to the beginning.  If each part is interesting regardless of the order it is read, then the writer’s skill is bigger than just creating a particular plot sequence.  If a book pulls you in even if you’ve read it before, then enjoyment of the book is not dependent on whether you’re ignorant of what happens.  That means the book is re-readable. 

Other cases where I might skip to the end are when the book seems really slow and boring (a subjective term, but still necessary). I'd like to know whether it gets any better. If it does, then I'll go back to where I left off and read to the end. But if not, why bother? Life is too short to read bad books.

I’m not the only person who has noted that spoilers can enhance enjoyment.  Check out this article:

http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2011/aug/17/spoilers-enhance-enjoyment-psychologists

The truth about hiring a line editor

Some writers think they should write from the gut, and then when once they have been accepted for publication, an editor will correct spelling and punctuation and grammar.  Among those who intend to go the self-publishing route, the corresponding notion is that one can hire an editor who will correct all that.

This is usually attached to the assumption that a writer doesn’t need to know the rules of grammar, punctuation, and spelling, and that can be delegated to hirelings.

Here’s the reality: Unless you know enough of the rules to polish your writing the best that you know how, submissions editors will not be able to get into your lovely story because they will be so distracted by mechanical errors in your writing. Your masterpiece will go straight to rejection pile.

And if you hire an editor yourself, they will not correct your writing. They will merely make suggestions and the only way you’re going to be able to keep from blowing a gasket when you see all the red ink (or comment bubbles in your document file) is if you know enough about the rules of writing to see that they are right.  But if you know the rules, why not just use them from the beginning?

Also, the rules of grammar and punctuation are there for a reason; they help eliminate ambiguity.  And if you don’t follow the rules, then your editor may think you mean one thing when you mean another, and then time is wasted figuring out what you really intended to say.  

When I worked as a writing tutor at ASU, I found that usually when grammar was off, the student wasn’t sure what they meant to say yet. I’d ask them, “Did you mean to say this, or did you mean this other thing?” and they’d scratch their head and say, “Uhhhh, I don’t know!”  They had written something they hoped would sound good to the teacher, without making sure it was exactly what they intended to say.

So what does an editor really do for a writer? The writer comes to the editor when they’ve gotten their work good enough that they can no longer see anything wrong with it. Then the editor helps clean up the mistakes the writer missed.  They will trim out unnecessary words, add those missing commas (because there are apparently 20 different ways to use commas and even good writers forget a few), demand a re-wording occasionally when a sentence or paragraph is garbled, move good sentences where they would work better, etc. 

To use a carpentry metaphor, the writer builds the desk and sands it down. The editor polishes it with 200-grit sandpaper and applies the paint and the clear coat.  Don’t expect your editor to do the sawing and hammering for you.