It is not an edit, a fix, a mistake. It is an opportunity. A chance to make something better. Who is this world hasn’t benefitted from a second chance in some way or another? I know I have. In fact, I can think of many times when I’ve been given many more chances than I may have deserved. If viewed in a positive light, a mistake is simply an opportunity to learn something.
Editing your own work is a must, but who wants to do that? It is like going out to your garden the day after you pulled weeds and planting them all over again. It must be done, but it ain’t fun. There is a great tempation to send the piece off to an editor you trust, if you are lucky enough to have one, and tell them you’ve done all you can do, now its your problem. Or words to that effect. Problem is, that person charges by the word.
Always do the free stuff first
So, it is a great practice to befriend editing your own novel, poem, essay, or work of choice. We all must do what works for us. I have come to trust in the passing of time. If you can’t beat it, join it.
This practice developed over the course of writing the two or three novels that came before The Trier Goes to London. The trust in that process grew over time as well. So much so that I planned on time-editing TGL over the summer to return to it in October. And I have.
And, it has worked for me. The passing of time gives me the distance to see my own writing more objectively, more clearly. Then the decison to move, change, delete and rearrange my own amazing words is just a business decison and not an emotional one.
But I do have to two rules to follow. You heard me. Just two. It’s not that I ignore all the others but the two that guide my hand are:
- Delete for heat- That means don’t give the reader any chance to become distracted or lose interest. Every word or bit of punctuation must have intention or the reader my find themselves “out of the book“. Needless to say, this is quite challenging in this day and age. I try to model the New Testament or Dashiell Hammett, neither of who wasted any words. I like to call my “style” New Testament Noir. I get the to point. I get irritated by writers who try to stuff their MFAs into each paragraph. But that’s just me.
- Never take the easy way out– For me that means don’t get lazy with adverbs or dialogue just to get to the next word or line or even chapter. Adverbs rob a writer the opportunity to be creative said Stephen King. It goes without saying that this means everything must originate from your own mind and not any other source. Well, in my case I almost always add caffeine to my mind. But that’s just me.
So, here are just a couple examples of opportunities I’ve let father time reveal to me as I revise The Trier Goes to London. Have a look.
Original 1
“A great many wagons are gone through this place with ammunition for the Saxon army.”
“No use. I can read it.” Philpatrick said.
“Not that. This.” The Widow Giles had emerged from her nook holding the Proclamation out in front of her. She took a step towards Philpatrick.
Father time edit suggestion
“A great many wagons are gone through this place with ammunition for the Saxon army.”
“No use. I can read it.” Philpatrick said.
“Not that,” The Widow Giles had emerged from her nook holding the Proclamation out in front of her. “This.” She took a step towards Philpatrick.
I feel like there is more heat generated by moving “this”
Original 2
“What you selling mate? Your bottom?” The questioner had stepped out of the Blackened Bean to find Altonstreet and Philpatrick blocking his way. ‘How much then?”
‘Uh, no. He wants to see the.. the magic…no… the pouch in my back pocket,’ Altonstreet said.
“He wants to see it first then?” The customer looked at Philpatrick. “Buyer beware, eh?”
Father time edit suggestion 2
“What you selling, mate?” The questioner had stepped out of the Blackened Bean to find Altonstreet and Philpatrick blocking his way. He faced them empty-handed, a few days of growth on his chin, a smile on his lips and caffeine blossoms on his cheeks.
“Selling?’ Altonstreet asked more to acknowledge that he understood. He understood the language, the fact that it was a question, and that he and Philpatrick would be able to communicate here in London in sixteen seventy-five, or thereabouts, without much difficulty.
“Your bottom?” The questioner had stepped out of the Blackened Bean to find Altonstreet and Philpatrick blocking his way. He must have enjoyed his time in the Blackened Bean as he seemed to not be too irritated that the two strangers were directly in his path. “How much, then?” He asked, keeping the smile in place.
‘Uh, no. He wants to see the.. the magic…no… the pouch in my back pocket,’ Altonstreet said.
“He wants to see it first then?” The man with the caffeine blossoms looked at Philpatrick. “Buyer beware, eh?”
Felt like I took the easy way out by just describing the plot-expediting character as “questioner”.
Coffee Novelist 