Alternating between reading and editing, I have now completed Revision Eight of my fiction manuscript, Box of Dreams. It is not really a unique part of my process to continuously rewrite sections. Ernest Hemingway rewrote sections of his stories many times before allowing anyone to read them. I know first hand the embarrassment of presenting a piece before it is time. A writer should accept the editing stage as an opportunity to work through every angle, sometimes reading stories hundreds of times before declaring it suitable for public scrutiny.
As a former project manager, I see parallels to the planning and execution stages. Creating architectural drawings is perfectly analogous to the process of creating an outline for a story. This is the stage in which principles are applied to ensure the pieces will go together to produce something aesthetically pleasing, yet functional. To me, writing the first draft is like erecting the steel framework for a building, it defines the outer parameters but the work is far from over. Bar joists and decking are laid between the structural members and concrete floors are poured before ducting and metal stud walls are installed. The list of details continues until the project is complete.
Similarly, creating a story begins with nothing more than a few ideas. As the ideas are further developed, changes are necessary to maintain consistency. The basics of writing help to establish a story that is hopefully plausible and intriguing. Yet, the writer continues to define each part of a story in sufficient detail to satisfy the reader. It continues until the story jumps from the page into the mind of the reader without drawing attention to the fundamental parts. It is like looking at a beautiful building without regard for the steel that is hidden beneath. We can hopefully appreciate it as a whole when it is done.
I have reached a point of saturation in which I can no longer see potential issues. This is not new. I have experienced it seven times previously. Each edit requires time to relax, separating myself from the work so that I may look at it with a fresh perspective, perhaps weeks from now. However, this time, I will seek the advice of an editor to help me understand how the story is perceived. It is also an opportunity to improve on style.
Luckily, I have short stories that must be edited before the submission deadline of April 15th. It will keep me busy for a few weeks and then I will go back and make any necessary changes to my manuscript before approaching agents and publishers with the best that I have to offer and hopefully move to the next phase, marketing, with a whole new list of issues with which to contend.
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Some thoughts about editing
Self editing was a challenge for me. But, I'm learning to appreciate the editing process. Why? Most importantly, it helps to refine writing skills. While it requires a lot of time, it is the 90% perspiration that comes after the 10% inspiration.
I think it is also healthy to recognize that self editing is only the beginning of the editing process. There are independent editors who will help to identify problems with a manuscript. I am open to using an independent editor, but it also pays to find an independent editor who can help move a career forward. Then, there are editors who work for the publisher. This is the final steps before a book is formatted for printing. Just to be clear, publishers do want clean copy, but most manuscripts do require editing.
Since writing the draft manuscript, I have removed most of the original basis for the story which is the short story entitled The Vase. This may seem odd, but in this particular case, the short story no longer advanced the story line that evolved. It became a distraction for the reader, so I took it out. The story reads much better and the first 50 pages are now very specific to developing the principle characters of the story. The value of the original short story remains. It was the impetus for developing the larger story and it remains a stand alone short story.
Similarly, I created a very detailed backstory about Art's great, great grandfather. This was written in the second revision as a prologue with an epilog at the end of the story to complete the backstory. This was eventually removed as it was not consistent with the mood of the main story. It was an important step nonetheless as it helped to develop the overall story, but it also revealed a bit too much, taking away some of the mystery.
I believe the main story line is now much stronger. Yes, it was painful to remove thousands of words, some of which were painstakingly crafted, but it did improve the forward momentum and overall style consistency of the main story.
The basic principle involved in the editing process can be described very easily. If it does not advance the story, take it out.
I think it is also healthy to recognize that self editing is only the beginning of the editing process. There are independent editors who will help to identify problems with a manuscript. I am open to using an independent editor, but it also pays to find an independent editor who can help move a career forward. Then, there are editors who work for the publisher. This is the final steps before a book is formatted for printing. Just to be clear, publishers do want clean copy, but most manuscripts do require editing.
Since writing the draft manuscript, I have removed most of the original basis for the story which is the short story entitled The Vase. This may seem odd, but in this particular case, the short story no longer advanced the story line that evolved. It became a distraction for the reader, so I took it out. The story reads much better and the first 50 pages are now very specific to developing the principle characters of the story. The value of the original short story remains. It was the impetus for developing the larger story and it remains a stand alone short story.
Similarly, I created a very detailed backstory about Art's great, great grandfather. This was written in the second revision as a prologue with an epilog at the end of the story to complete the backstory. This was eventually removed as it was not consistent with the mood of the main story. It was an important step nonetheless as it helped to develop the overall story, but it also revealed a bit too much, taking away some of the mystery.
I believe the main story line is now much stronger. Yes, it was painful to remove thousands of words, some of which were painstakingly crafted, but it did improve the forward momentum and overall style consistency of the main story.
The basic principle involved in the editing process can be described very easily. If it does not advance the story, take it out.
Friday, January 14, 2011
The Vase
It all began with a short story.
THE VASE
By Del Boland
“Honey, I think I have a solution to our problem!” I yell up the stairs. “What problem?” my wife’s voice responds. “The problem with Gimmer Dean!” I yell back.
It was under a work table for almost two years. A wooden vase with a matching lid. It seems heavy as I lift it from its resting place. I wipe the dust away to partially restore the natural mahogany sheen to the outer surface.
“Ok, tonight is the big night”, I mumble to myself.
My wife gives me a suspicious look from the kitchen table as I emerge from the basement. “And where do you think you’re going with that?” she asks.
“We’re taking it to the party.”
“Absolutely not!”
“You know, she would have wanted it this way.”
“Yes, but it’s not fair to the others!” she snaps.
I feel I’m losing ground so I try a slightly different approach. “It’s really a nice vase and the story is intriguing.”
My wife looks at me over her glasses. “You cannot be serious?”
“Well, this is a group of writers and writers love good stories.”
“Yes dear, but they don't want to be burdened with the responsibility. Can’t we just forget about it?” she presses. “I don’t think anyone can blame us for not complying with such an odd request.”
I think about it for a minute. Deep down, I agree with her. It is very odd. I suppose it was my aunt’s final act of desperation. I manage to come back to the task at hand which is cleaning the vase and finding a box to wrap it.
“You know, this could be a lot of fun,” I offer. “We can give it a try and see what happens.”
“I think you’re asking for trouble. There is no way you’ll pull it off.”
“Just leave it to me. I’ll take the heat.”
I look at my watch and announce, “It’s almost six o’clock. We only have one hour.”
She goes upstairs as I fasten a bow onto the box.
My wife wraps her hair in a towel as I make my way into the master bathroom. She smirks at me in the large mirror. I smirk back while undressing. I step into the shower and allow the hot water to run through my hair and down my face. It feels good. I think about my Aunt Gimmer Dean.
She was a small woman with severe osteoporosis. The muscles in her neck were atrophied from supporting her head at such an awkward angle for so long her head drooped below the peak of her humped back. Her facial features were contorted by several strokes with her mouth up on one side and down on the other. Because her head was naturally cast downward, she always looked to the side which gave her the odd appearance of a character from a Picasso painting. It was difficult to look at her without tilting your head.
“This really is the best opportunity that we have,” I say as I step out of the shower, drying my hair with a towel.
“Maybe so, but I still think it’s a bad idea. That is, after what happened last year.”
“You don’t really believe in the curse, do you?”
“I believe it now.”
I signed for it before the calamity began. At first, I didn’t know what was in the package. I hoped for money, jewelry or stock certificates. But no, easy money was not in alignment with the other events of my life. I received a vase containing my aunt’s ashes along with some documents.
There was the bio and the story, but there was also the letter to be signed upon receipt. The letter had instructions for passing the contents of the vase along. It also provided a manifest sheet that would forever accompany the contents of the vase.
We did not follow through the first year after receiving the bequest. We talked about it, but forgot about it until beset by a series of unfortunate events.
We dismissed the everyday annoyances for a while as the maintenance items seemed quite normal. After 6 months, the problems were following a pattern of increased frequency and impact on our family. In one week the ice maker pan overflowed into the freezer, we collected a dent in the door of our new car in a parking lot, and our television stopped working. Soon thereafter, the hot water heater leaked water into the basement ruining the carpet, a tree fell on our house and my mother-in-law broke her hip. Then.....we lost our son, Josh. Something was very wrong.
“Should I wear a tie?” I ask.
“I don’t think so, I’m just wearing a nice Christmas sweater”
I button my shirt and place the envelope on the wrapped box.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold out”, my wife says to me as we back out of the driveway.
I glance over at her, sitting in the passenger seat of our car. She looks very tired after a long week at work.
“Hang in there, it’ll be a lot of fun.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You know everybody and you're unloading the curse.”
“It’s not a curse if people follow through. It'll be fine.”
We drive into Tommy Nevin’s Pub parking lot.
“What if no one will take it?” she asks as we get out of the car.
“I don’t know, we’ll have to wait and see what happens.”
A nice lady stands next to a table. I recognize her from the writer’s group.
“You can just put your gift here,” says the lady while pointing at the table. There’s a sign with “White Elephant Gift Exchange” written in large letters.
I place the package containing Aunt Gimmer Dean on the table and hand the envelope to the lady.
“I know it’s an odd request, but it should be a lot of fun. Please have the recipient of the gift sign the document inside the envelope and then deliver it back to me.”
We turn and walk toward a table with a few empty chairs. I feel relieved. I have fulfilled my duty.
THE VASE
By Del Boland
“Honey, I think I have a solution to our problem!” I yell up the stairs. “What problem?” my wife’s voice responds. “The problem with Gimmer Dean!” I yell back.
It was under a work table for almost two years. A wooden vase with a matching lid. It seems heavy as I lift it from its resting place. I wipe the dust away to partially restore the natural mahogany sheen to the outer surface.
“Ok, tonight is the big night”, I mumble to myself.
My wife gives me a suspicious look from the kitchen table as I emerge from the basement. “And where do you think you’re going with that?” she asks.
“We’re taking it to the party.”
“Absolutely not!”
“You know, she would have wanted it this way.”
“Yes, but it’s not fair to the others!” she snaps.
I feel I’m losing ground so I try a slightly different approach. “It’s really a nice vase and the story is intriguing.”
My wife looks at me over her glasses. “You cannot be serious?”
“Well, this is a group of writers and writers love good stories.”
“Yes dear, but they don't want to be burdened with the responsibility. Can’t we just forget about it?” she presses. “I don’t think anyone can blame us for not complying with such an odd request.”
I think about it for a minute. Deep down, I agree with her. It is very odd. I suppose it was my aunt’s final act of desperation. I manage to come back to the task at hand which is cleaning the vase and finding a box to wrap it.
“You know, this could be a lot of fun,” I offer. “We can give it a try and see what happens.”
“I think you’re asking for trouble. There is no way you’ll pull it off.”
“Just leave it to me. I’ll take the heat.”
I look at my watch and announce, “It’s almost six o’clock. We only have one hour.”
She goes upstairs as I fasten a bow onto the box.
My wife wraps her hair in a towel as I make my way into the master bathroom. She smirks at me in the large mirror. I smirk back while undressing. I step into the shower and allow the hot water to run through my hair and down my face. It feels good. I think about my Aunt Gimmer Dean.
She was a small woman with severe osteoporosis. The muscles in her neck were atrophied from supporting her head at such an awkward angle for so long her head drooped below the peak of her humped back. Her facial features were contorted by several strokes with her mouth up on one side and down on the other. Because her head was naturally cast downward, she always looked to the side which gave her the odd appearance of a character from a Picasso painting. It was difficult to look at her without tilting your head.
“This really is the best opportunity that we have,” I say as I step out of the shower, drying my hair with a towel.
“Maybe so, but I still think it’s a bad idea. That is, after what happened last year.”
“You don’t really believe in the curse, do you?”
“I believe it now.”
I signed for it before the calamity began. At first, I didn’t know what was in the package. I hoped for money, jewelry or stock certificates. But no, easy money was not in alignment with the other events of my life. I received a vase containing my aunt’s ashes along with some documents.
There was the bio and the story, but there was also the letter to be signed upon receipt. The letter had instructions for passing the contents of the vase along. It also provided a manifest sheet that would forever accompany the contents of the vase.
We did not follow through the first year after receiving the bequest. We talked about it, but forgot about it until beset by a series of unfortunate events.
We dismissed the everyday annoyances for a while as the maintenance items seemed quite normal. After 6 months, the problems were following a pattern of increased frequency and impact on our family. In one week the ice maker pan overflowed into the freezer, we collected a dent in the door of our new car in a parking lot, and our television stopped working. Soon thereafter, the hot water heater leaked water into the basement ruining the carpet, a tree fell on our house and my mother-in-law broke her hip. Then.....we lost our son, Josh. Something was very wrong.
“Should I wear a tie?” I ask.
“I don’t think so, I’m just wearing a nice Christmas sweater”
I button my shirt and place the envelope on the wrapped box.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold out”, my wife says to me as we back out of the driveway.
I glance over at her, sitting in the passenger seat of our car. She looks very tired after a long week at work.
“Hang in there, it’ll be a lot of fun.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You know everybody and you're unloading the curse.”
“It’s not a curse if people follow through. It'll be fine.”
We drive into Tommy Nevin’s Pub parking lot.
“What if no one will take it?” she asks as we get out of the car.
“I don’t know, we’ll have to wait and see what happens.”
A nice lady stands next to a table. I recognize her from the writer’s group.
“You can just put your gift here,” says the lady while pointing at the table. There’s a sign with “White Elephant Gift Exchange” written in large letters.
I place the package containing Aunt Gimmer Dean on the table and hand the envelope to the lady.
“I know it’s an odd request, but it should be a lot of fun. Please have the recipient of the gift sign the document inside the envelope and then deliver it back to me.”
We turn and walk toward a table with a few empty chairs. I feel relieved. I have fulfilled my duty.
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