We all have one in the drawer: that short story that just doesn’t seem to sell. The plot’s smart, the sex sizzles, maybe the theme even strikes resounding universal chords. Yet somehow it always lands in our “rejected” pile.

There can be many different reasons why a good story isn’t accepted, but here’s something you can check immediately: the length of the paragraphs. When a paragraph exceeds about seven typewritten lines, you’ve broken the “magic” 30-second containment. Simply put, that means it would take longer than half a minute to read out loud.

You guessed it — that’s the length of an ad. Blame radio, blame television, videos and the web, but for the last 80 years or so, human begins have been “primed” to receive a new idea every 30 seconds.

It isn’t just fiction that has to pay for the advertising revolution. Milo O. Frank wrote a best-selling business book, How to Get Your Point Across in 30 Seconds or Less, that focused on oral presentations as well as written communication. The bottom line was the same. People are most receptive to information when it comes to them in ad-sized bulletins, regardless of what that data is.

I can hear the purists howling now. What about Dickens? Flaubert? Fitzgerald? Even contemporary novelists and short story writers have paragraphs longer than seven lines, for Pete’s sake. I don’t disagree. Some of the most exquisitely-crafted writing comes to us in dense blocks of print, whole pyramids being assembled on the page. But you have to assume the worst-case scenario, that the editor who sees your story is jaded, cranky and overworked. You want your story to be as inviting as possible, and shorter paragraphs subliminally suggest brisk, vibrant storytelling.

This is because a reader has an emotional response to the “visual page” before he ever begins to read. There are many writers who I think are wonderful, but whose blocks of print fatigue me at first sight. I have to force myself over that initial hump of resistance before I can become caught up in the story. An editor who doesn’t know your work might not give you the extra time.

I must admit that I came to the 30-second revelation by default. My first training was in advertising, writing radio commercials, where the framework beat itself into my psyche through constant use. Several novels, two screenplays and many short stories later, I still feel that bell ring in my bones when I go over the time limit.

Does this mean you should never break the seven-line barrier? Of course not. But my advice is to save your longer paragraphs for moments of intensity: great emotion, luscious description, soul-wringing revelation. Not only will it feel like a luxurious amount of space to express your idea, but you’ll send a subliminal message to the reader: this is longer, it’s important.

Why not try it, just to see the effect? First print a copy of your unsold story and look at the visual layout on the page. If you have paragraphs that exceed seven typewritten lines, pare them down ruthlessly. For an even longer block of print, try to break it up into separate ideas. Most of the time you’ll find that you’ve knit two or three ideas together, each of which could stand alone. And don’t be afraid of short paragraphs, those that aren’t much more than a single line. The visual variety is like a dash of salt.

Afterwards, read both versions. Did the story lose that much? What happened to the pace? No matter which version you finally keep, it’s a good exercise in editing, pacing, and visual impact.

The 30-second solution won’t turn a poor story into a good one, nor is it right for every mood: some stories cry out for a leisurely, dreamy stride and it’s part of what makes them wonderful. But it’s worth being aware of how subliminal factors affect a reader. After all, you can’t fight the media, so why not use its techniques? And perhaps the It’ll be the extra edge your story needs to push it into the “Sold!” file.

“Beyond the Basics” © 2005 Tulsa Brown. All rights reserved.
About the Author: Tulsa Brown is an award-winning novelist who has also written for film and media, and has led many writing workshops for adults and young people.