Fiction is composed of distinct parts, sometimes called modes of storytelling. You can think of them as the building blocks that you’ll use to construct your fiction project. Once you learn to identify these blocks and how they work, they’re fun to play with. But if you get the balance wrong by, say, overloading your project with exposition (tell), your project may, well, topple over.

If you search online, you’ll see authors differ on how many modes of storytelling there are, and even what they are called. That can get confusing. But the concepts are basically the same.

You're likely familiar with each of these terms, but I’ll give you my definitions, followed by very simple examples taken from the opening of The Stalker, one of my literacy learner or hi-lo novels (written at a low reading level for those improving their reading skills). You'll find a more complex example in the third page of this article.

ACTION is what the characters do, how they move within the scene, what is happening. Example:

     I grabbed the phone from the nightstand.

The line above is an action beat. Beats are the small actions we give to characters, usually inserted within dialogue, that orient the reader as to who is speaking, where the characters are and what they are doing. Beats also help to convey emotion and can offer pacing and rhythm to the prose.

DIALOGUE is what the characters say to each other, in conversation on the page. Example:

     "Nice day for a little kayak trip, eh?" he said. "But I wouldn't go out if I were you."

     "Who is this?"

 In EXPOSITION things are explained and background information is given. When exposition occurs in dialogue, it’s called expository dialogue. You've heard the expression "show, don't tell." Exposition is all about "tell." Example:

     I run sea kayak tours. My staff and I guide tourists as they paddle my boats around the many islands along the coast of Vancouver Island.

DESCRIPTION engages all five senses and paints a picture of the setting and characters in the reader's mind. Example:

      Artists' studios, cafes, and a fish and chips shop lined the waterfront. Fishermen's boats were tied up along the docks beside the tourists' sailboats and motorboats. Across the inlet, mist drifted down the rocky cliffs.

TRANSITIONS are used whenever there is a change in the story, say at the beginning of a chapter, when we move from one place and time to the next, or from one point of view to another. We use transitions to orient the reader as to where, and when, they are now, and who they are with. Example:

     The stalker phoned me for the first time early on a Saturday morning. The ringing of my cell phone woke me.

INTERIOR MONOLOGUE is the character’s thoughts. When we read interior monologue, we’re inside the character's head, mind-reading. Example:

     I felt sorry as soon as the words came out of my mouth.

Again, all these modes of storytelling, or building blocks of fiction, combine to form scenes. SCENES move the story along and hold the readers interest. Things happen in front of the reader, in real time (the "now" of the story). When handled well, the reader feels they are right there with the protagonist.

FLASHBACKS are special kinds of scenes that take the reader back in time in relation to the “now” of the narrative. They are the character’s memories.

In the past, I've brought my son's building blocks into my classes to demonstrate these elements in fiction. Think of a scene (action, dialogue) as a block on wheels: it moves the story forward. Narrative summary or transition is a bridge that connects two blocks of scenes (it moves from one place and time to the next). Description is a block that builds up from the scene: it builds the picture of landscape or character in the reader's mind. Lastly there are the little blocks of exposition, or explanation. They are useful and necessary, but should be used sparingly, as that particular block has no wheels. Narrative drive comes to a stop when the author or a character starts explaining (or preaching, lecturing or teaching).

One way to really get a handle on these building blocks is to check out how they work within novels you admire (or how they don’t work in poorly written novels). Pay special attention to exposition. Generally apprentice writers overuse exposition. I'll often highlight exposition in yellow within a student manuscript, to illustrate just how much exposition is in use. Do it for your own writing and you may be surprised.

Here's a passage of my own writing where I've identified the building blocks of fiction within brackets. It's from the opening section from chapter one of The Cure for Death by Lightning. As you can see, the building blocks bleed into each other and are often very difficult to tease apart and see, particularly in our own writing.

"(Transition: a bridge to this time and place:) When it came looking for me I was in the hollow stump by Turtle Creek at the spot where the deep pool was hidden by low hanging bushes, (now we're into description: deep pool, low hanging bushes) where the fishing was the very best and only my brother an I figured we knew of it. (Now we're into exposition: only I and my brother knew of it.) Now, in spring, the stump blossomed purple and yellow violets so profusely that it became something holy and worth pondering (description, exposition: she explains it's something holy and worth pondering). Come fall, the stump was flagrantly, shamefully red in a coat of dying leaves from the surrounding trees. (Description builds the setting for the reader; all five of the reader's senses should become engaged in description. Don't forget smell and sound!) (Now we move into exposition again, where she explains things:)This was my stump, where I stored my few illicit treasures: the lipstick my mother smuggled home for me in a bag of rice; the scrap of red velvet that Bertha Moses tucked in my pocket as she left the house on the day of my fifteenth birthday; the violet perfume I received as my gift at the Christmas pageant the year before; and the bottle of clear nail polish my father threw into the manure pile after he caught me using it behind the house, the bottle I had salvaged, washed, and spirited away. (Note that within this exposition, there are several little "sketches" that I could have turned into scenes if I'd chosen to: for example, the "sketch" of the father throwing the bottle into the manure pile could have been a whole scene, or even a whole sequence or chapter, depending on how I'd chosen to handle this. Look at your own work with this in mind: what exposition can you expand into a scene.)

(Now we're into a scene: action unfolds in real time in front of the reader, as opposed to the exposition above, where action is NOT unfolding in real time). I was in there, hiding, my knees up to my nose, listening to the sound of it rushing, crashing through the bush, coming for me. A cobweb stretched over my face, an ant roamed over the valleys in my skirt, spiders invaded my hair, and an itch started on my nose and traveled to my arm, but I stayed still. I closed my eyes and willed it away, and after a while the sound of crashing did move off. It became nothing but wind playing tricks on me, a deer I scared up with my own fear. (Bit of exposition there: she's explaining it’s the wind playing tricks on her, a deer she scared up.)

(Now into a scene: action unfolding in front of the reader in real time:) I waited, listening, until my leg cramped up, then climbed from the stump and wiped off my skirt. The weight of my body had pushed the perfume bottle and lipstick into the earth. I brushed off the scrap of velvet, smoothed it across my face, and rubbed it down the inside of my bare leg. I imagined I was touched that way, by a city man -- no farmer's hands were like velvet -- (now we're back into exposition as information is given -- a city man, who works in the office is going to have nice hands, but no farmer would) a man who worked in an office with clean papers, whose polished heels clicked along the pavement, and whose hands never dug into manure."

Example is always the best teacher. Take the time to highlight the building blocks, each in a different colour, in your own work or a work you admire, to see how the building blocks work together. It's the first step in learning how to read as a writer.