“Wonderful news!” said the gentleman. “I have finished my book!”

“Congratulations!” I said. “What happens in chapter two?”

“The same thing as chapter one, but explained more thoroughly.”

I imagined a train leaving Bombay Central, travelling enthusiastically for twenty minutes, then returning to Bombay Central so the driver could explain the departure again.

By chapter four, passengers would be climbing out through the windows.

As I craft books for different writers, I often discover that a manuscript has chapters, headings and enough words to frighten a printer, but very little movement. The reader reaches the end of a chapter and wonders why the scenery looks suspiciously familiar.

A book should take us somewhere. Whether it is a memoir, a business book or a collection of reflections, each chapter should carry us further into understanding, experience or discovery.

Picture yourself on a train. Outside the window, the crowded city gives way to fields. A river flashes past. Hills rise in the distance. You notice a woman waiting at a small station, a boy waving from a crossing, cattle standing with the confidence of creatures who have never bought a ticket.

The scenery changes, yet the journey makes sense. You do not leave a coconut grove and suddenly find yourself inside somebody’s bathroom.

Unless, of course, the author has forgotten to build a bridge between chapters.

“Why is your childhood appearing here?” I sometimes ask.

“Because I remembered it while writing about retirement.”

Perfectly understandable. Memory has no timetable. A book needs one.

Now imagine an underground metro journey, with a dark window and a tunnel that continues to look like the tunnel you saw five minutes ago. Useful transportation, certainly, but nobody presses their face against the glass and exclaims, “Darling, another magnificent patch of concrete!”

Some manuscripts offer precisely that view.

Chapter one tells you to believe in yourself. Chapter two urges you to have confidence. Chapter three advises you to stop doubting yourself. By chapter four, you have begun doubting the author.

The trouble is usually that the writer loves the message so much that he keeps bringing it back for another round of applause.

Crafting helps each chapter earn its place. One establishes the problem. Another reveals its consequences. The next explores an attempt that failed. A later chapter brings a discovery, a decision or a change. The reader begins to feel the wheels turning.

Even quieter chapters matter. A train slows at a station. Passengers breathe, look around and prepare for the next stretch. Reflection can do that in a book, provided we eventually leave the platform.

Before adding another chapter, ask yourself what the reader will see here that could not be seen before.

Give your book a destination, meaningful stops and windows worth looking through.

Because readers have bought a ticket and trusted you with their time.

Please don’t spend the entire journey announcing, “We are about to depart!”

Get the train moving. There is a reader waiting to discover what lies beyond the next bend..!

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