In real life, unlike in novels, every day has to be lived – rather an obvious statement.

Time is outside our control. There’s no fast forward or – more regrettably – dash back to the past to live over another day, week, year.

But in the world of novels, the author has the power to wield an authority upon it that is very freeing – but also raises all sorts of questions and dilemmas.

In saga novels, numerous generations might live their lives and be encapsulated in some 400 pages or so.

D.H. Lawrence’s The Rainbow, for example, Arnold Bennett’s The Old Wives’ Tale. In the latter – a favourite novel of mine – the reader meets the protagonists in their teenage years and stays with them until old age, the story set against the changing historical and social contexts of the times. So there are numerous leaps over years – even decades.

But what about novels spanning just a few years? How does the author decide which years to skip over and which to allow focus and detail?

I am finding this is a puzzle for me at the moment writing my fifth novel.

Starting in September 1940, the story spans the subsequent years of WW2 from the perspective of my protagonists – all of whom live in London.

Obviously, the historical and social contexts of the time are crucial – but there’s a balance in not allowing the story to be so overwhelmed with war detail that the reader becomes irritated and wishes the author had not done quite so much research into events!

So what to include, reference and highlight – and which months of which years to skip over and where to hover and expand – become the challenge.

Looking back on real life – the lives we are all leading – it seems that it’s not so much particular years that are recalled in detail as specific events and moments. Unless we are faithful diary recorders, it’s unlikely that we will have a clear picture of the contents of every year of our lives. We will probably remember births, deaths, losses, gains, holidays, home moves- and then, with due consideration, eventually attach a year to the memory.

But back to my protagonists.

The context of the novel’s WW2 setting inevitably calls out for certain events to be recorded or at least remarked upon- the fall of France, the blitz, the fears of invasion, the introduction of rationing, Pear Harbour and its consequences – and more.

But, having reached the end of 1943 in my initial draft, how many months can I skip over without the reader suddenly thinking hang on, what have Harriet and Ralph and Florence and Edith and Connie been getting up to for half of 1944? – if I suddenly fast forward to summer or autumn of that year?

Or will the transition not trouble the reader at all – just implicitly accepting that, like our own lives considered in retrospect, not every day of the 365 or 6 in a year is significant or bears examination?

Take Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte takes Jane off to Lowood School at the age of 10 and does not pick her up again until she is 18 or so. The first person protagonist boldly declares to her readers that:

Hitherto I have recorded in detail the events of my insignificant existence to the first ten years of my life, I have given almost as many chapters. But this is not a regular autobiography; I am only bound to invoke memory where I know her responses will possess some degree of interest; therefore I now pass a space of eight years almost in silence: a few lines only are necessary to keep up the links of the connection.

Actually, this is incredibly helpful.

My novel is not first person – and I think if I started to use words like hitherto I would swiftly be losing my reader’s attention – but that phrase will possess some degree of interest is instructive. As is a few lines only are necessary to keep up the links

If Charlotte Bronte can abandon eight years in her narrative because it holds little interest for the reader, I think I can follow suit with a less drastic fast forward over months.

After all, much as a reader needs to believe in the reality of the lives of characters (with the possible exception of readers of fantasy/paranormal/zombie et al genres!)we don’t need to seem them in all their prosaic daily and dull actions and activities.

And let’s face it, hours of our lives are composed of exactly that – methodical, routine and extremely banal moments that really defy even the best of writers to render as fascinating.

And before anyone quotes James Joyce’s Ulysses at me – a masterpiece that I have to confess I have never managed to read all the way through – I’m moving on and following Bronte’s recommendation in order to focus on moments that possess some degree of interest as I reach for the finishing line of novel number 5!