Why Drafting Rocks Revising Out of the Water

I love the dramatic cloudscapes of New Mexico's monsoon season.

So, in this week's cage match throw-down over drafting vs. revising, for once I get the last word. That's because I was crazy helping my folks move last weekend and the always-helpful Veronica stepped right up to swap places with me.

It's getting a bit uncanny, how much alike James and I are. I'm glad he copped to feeling like something is wrong with him, because I'm there, too.

I really hate revising.

To me, revising means I screwed up the first time around. Yes, yes - I know you are are shaking your heads at me, perhaps fondly, more likely in irritation. But the truth remains that, in my heart of hearts, I believe that if I got the damn story correct the first time around, I wouldn't have to go back and fix it.

You have to understand that I'm also the girl who literally does crossword puzzles in ink (pencil is way too vague and smudgy). In college, I composed all of my papers on my Brother Correctronic typewriter (a blast from the past for all my fellow pre-PC folks out there) and turned them in that way. I learned early on to never go back and check my answers on exams - as the common wisdom instructs - because, if I changed my first answer, I inevitably changed it wrong.

I don't like getting things wrong.

Oh yes, this is compulsive, likely obsessive, perfectionistic and downright weird, but revising to me means fixing errors and it's wasted time that I could be spending writing the new thing, if only I'd gotten the previous thing right the first go-around.

This is not to say that I don't revise. I do.

And I grumble to myself the whole time.

However, as I become a better, more-practiced writer, my revision passes are becoming less involved. I inevitably have some smoothing to do at the beginning, since I discover all sorts of things along the way. By the time I've found out how the book ends, I usually need to tweak a few details at the beginning.

If I've done my job right, even my critique partner (CP) feedback only requires similar tweaking.

After that, I more or less cheerfully accommodate my editors' edits. The more involved developmental edits sometimes give me that "you screwed up" feeling, but more often I feel like it's taste or massaging to the market. Line and copy edits are no biggie. I don't care about commas. I accept most suggested rewordings.

One of my CPs insists that revision is holy work. That's exactly what she calls it.

For me, writing the story is the holy work. And if I'm diligent, clear-minded and true of heart, I'll get the story right as I write.

It's like being connected to the Tao, to the creative flow of the universe, pouring through me and into the work.

There's nothing else like it. Not even sex - and that's saying a lot.

Not a thing wrong with that.

EDITING vs. REVISING

To me, editing a novel means FIXING/AMENDING the nuts and bolts of a story. It can be correcting typos, cutting exposition, or tightening a scene for pacing purposes. It can be adjustments made to firm up logic, or address areas where the language is too flowery or too stilted.

OIL CHANGE

You know...it's an oil change, new brake pads--making what you have work better. It may mean adding those ass-kickin' skull emblazoned new seat covers you wanted to dress it up a bit, and it might be the opportunity to upgrade to that stereo and speaker system and that will really resonate and literally vibrates your little bug down the road.


Likewise, to me, revising a novel means tinkering with the engine and fuel source of a story. As in the main plot, the subplot(s), or character arc. It means changing something integral to the basis of the story, something which effects everything. Change the gender or race of your main character. Change the setting from modern day NYC to Victorian England. Instead of a heroine with a three-legged dog as a side kick, she gets a spunky kid sister instead. This is rewriting. Sometimes, it simply has to be done if you want to sell a story.

TRADE THIS OVERUSED STORY VEHICLE...

You know...it's taking that rusty and dented body in sky blue, the one you love so much, and allowing it to become more than you ever intended...reshaping it with tools and bondo, working it through a couple coats of primer, and ending up with a sleek and glossy cherry red. It's taking that reliable work-truck and trading it for something new and sporty, something more maneuverable and exciting.

...FOR THIS SLEEK, AGILE STORY VEHICLE

        So...if you are writing, then conceivably, editing is something you are quite able to do. Spell check, grammar, etc. There are resources available to correct the mechanical stuff.




Revising however, requires that you are willing.


Personally, when I have an idea and I get it onto the screen-page, a rough outline forms around it. Sometimes I write myself into a corner and have to revise everything. When I do reach the end, my self-editing ensues addressing mechanical issues while I debug and re-calibrate as needed.


If an established and reliable editor or agent with a proven track record offers suggestions based on what they see as needed for the story, or ideas that would improve the story and its impact on readers in a positive way, then Hell yes I am going to seriously consider how to address their concerns.

Don't be the author standing in the dark pit of some plot-hole that swallowed them alive, and shout up into the lighted world of the writing business (where sales are actually made), saying, "No I like it this way."

Editing vs Revising vs Rewriting

So... I'm a delinquent. No, no. Not because I'm posting this in the early summer evening. I'm a delinquent when it comes to claiming to be "editing" when, in fact, I've passed the point of "revising" and gone back to a straight-up rewrite.

For two years, CPs, friends, and family heard me claim to be "editing that same story." I wasn't. I'd gutted it. Kept 70% of the cast, the top line plot, and the opening chapter. Everything else changed. You know what that's called? Not editing. That's a full-bore rewrite.

Level of Effort is what differentiates Editing, Revising, and Rewriting ... to me. If folks who get paid to be particular about correlating the appropriate verbs to specific actions care to disagree, okay fine. In my little universe, if I'm making changes to police over-used words or correct syntax, then it's editing.  If I'm changing the order of events in chapters or cutting full scenes, then I'm revising. If I'm stripping everything back to the skeleton of the main plot, then that's a frippin' rewrite.

What about you, dear reader, where do you draw the lines among Editing, Revising, and Rewriting? Do you commit to the arduous changes of revisions and rewrites, or do you let the story go and move on to the next?

Photo courtesy of Grammarly on Facebook.

Buffing the Rough Cut

Okay. Well, Blogspot seems to have a mad hate on for the image I'd planned to tuck into this post. So you'll just have to imagine a typewritten page hemorraghing red ink. K?

As has been previously established, drafting is not my forte. Revision is. Sadly, one cannot revise what one has not yet - you know - drafted. Welcome to my purgatory.

Once I have a POS (Yes, I could have titled this 'polishing the turd'. I didn't. You're welcome.) draft in hand, I patch holes. My drafts are usually a jigsaw puzzle of scenes without transitions betwixt them. Mostly, the scenes are in order. Though, it's not unheard of for the bits to get shuffled in service to the story and conflict. The point for this pass through the MS is to connect all the dots so the story reads from beginning to end.

Stage 1 Check List:

1. Does story flow from beginnng to end
2. Is there a story arc
3. Can conflict be intensified
4. Does it make sense

From there, I move on to Stage 2 polishing - making it sound right to me. You know how in high school, when some smart mouth jerk insulted you and you thought of the perfect come back? At three AM the next morning? That's revising for me. For whatever reason, a wire crossed in the brain, it's easy for me to see how to fix something AFTER I've written it. I may wail and cry and gnash my teeth that it's too hard, but I always know what the story needs. Eventually, I get over myself and I fix what needs repair. This is often dialog between characters and may speak directly to character arcs. This stage requires a clear head and a willingness to listen. Somethings haven't changed since high school. The perfect solutions usually pop into my head at 3am. My family is not keen on my revision process.

Stage 2 Check List:

1. Are character arcs as strong as they could be
2. Do the characters sound like themselves
3. Would anyone REALLY say what I had that character say
4. What would be more fun, more conflict, more unintentionally revealing in any given bit of text I'm obsessing over

Stage 3 is for continuity, repeated words, phrases and gestures. Hi. My name is Marcella, and I am not a detail person. Until it comes to one of my stories. Continuity mistakes in my work make me cringe. Hates it. Hates it with white hot passion. So I've developed the 'picking out continuity issues' muscle. I'd like to pretend it's foolproof. But that was before a novel got to copy-edits with a hero holding a conversation while he was unconscious in surgery. Oops. Or before a short story went out with a massive (to me) science error in it. So clearly, one can never obsess over continuity too much. How do you find it?

Stage 3 Check List:

1. Beta readers/critique group
2. Read the work aloud in the company of a solid crit group - no really - reading aloud is where your repeated words will hit you over the head if your crit group doesn't
3. Reading aloud, mark your characters' physical gestures - how often does he rub a hand down his face, how often does she roll her eyes - fix that. There are more physical manifestations of emotional state than are dreamt of in my tiny drafting vocabulary. Try out a few.
4. Take a break.  A day. A week. Longer if deadlines permit, but let the work sit. Encourage the words to dribble out of head. Then reread. Not aloud. Just read. Watch the typos and the repeated words jump out at you. Fix.

Stage 4 - Release
Here's where I admit I'll never catch everything. This is why there are editors - professional, objective eyes paid to point out where a story doesn't communicate as clearly as it could. So that's the point that I bundle up that MS and ship it. And subsequently and immediately find a slew of typos, repeated words and other mistakes that I missed before shipping.

Where Magic Meets Manuscript

In The Plague by Albert Camus, there's a character who is forever writing and rewriting the first sentence of his book. If he can only get that first sentence right, everything else would fall perfectly into place thereafter. Without spoiling the book if you haven't read it, let me just say what you've already guessed. It doesn't quite work out that way. It's also not what any of us want for our stories. I hope.

Revision, to me, is more art  than skill. Certainly, you need a specific set of skills before you can begin to revise - but actual revision, turning the dross into gold, is tough to categorize or list out in ten easy steps. Look through this week's posts. KAK talks GMC. Linda talks show, don't tell. I'm going to come at it from yet a different angle, which I'll get to in a minute.  Revision is an art because every writer has to find his or her own way into (and subsequently back out of) the forest of words and story. You get bonus points if you emerge with your sanity intact. How do you figure out when mucking around in the innards of your novel has accomplished something useful? By having made the twin mistakes of:

1. Sending an MS out before it's time 
2. Revising the life and breath right out of your novel

Once you've done those two things and realized you've done those two things so you can go back and look at them for comparison, you have a much stronger sense of how fine a line you have to walk as you revise. I'll fess up. I had to do these two things twice each before I figured it out. But honestly? I live to revise a book. First drafts stab me repeatedly in the heart. Revisions? Those are easy.

So how do I talk about revision? It's all in the word. Re-vision - looking at a story with fresh eyes. Anytime I finish a draft, I put it away for at least 24-48 hours. During that time, there's no looking at it. No reading. If I think if something I messed up or missed, I make a pen and paper note - a running revision list. And let me tell you, there's something about closing up the first draft of a story that will bring the 'Hey, stupid, you forgot...' voices right out of hiding. The point of taking a break is to give the creative story portion of my brain time to settle down. It's a little like taking a day off from the gym right after you complete a marathon. Give those muscles some time to repair torn, stressed tissue. You story brain needs that, too.

This break also gives the critical-thinking and logic centers of your brain time to wake up. Into the silence of the enforced story blackout, the quiet voices start popping up. "Did you tie up that thread from chapter three?" "Did you remember to put the clue in on that one chapter where. . ." These all get added to the revision list. No opening the document to check.

After the day or two of rest, I pick up my revision list, open my document and I start reading with a set of questions in mind.

1. Do my characters sound and act like themselves?
2. Can I up the stakes or make things worse? (while keeping things believable)
3. Does every scene drive the story forward?
4. Do my hero and heroine have a complete character arc and does the conflict drive each of them into that arc (willing or unwilling)?

Once I have the answers to those questions, I'm still not likely done. I haven't addressed my revision list that I've kept. I address those. My favorite way to address revisions? Deletion. Reason being that if a scene has several revision notes, either it's a key, pivotal scene that needs to be crystal clear or (and more likely, because just how many pivotoal scenes does one novel have?) the scene isn't necessary at all.

This is also my opportunity to go back through the story and rewrite bits of dialog with the brilliant and witty things my characters SHOULD have said to one another. And that only pop into my head after I've given up for the night and crawled into bed for some sleep. I'd like to tell you that I keep a running list of that stuff, too, rather than going back in each day and revising what I'd written the day before with the new dialog bits - but I'd be lying. So I won't.

When I stop getting revision notes from inside my brain and I've read through the story without any further flashes of snappy dialog accosting me when I should be snoozing, that's when I know I'm done.  I'll send the story out at that point. And within an hour of sending the story to an editor somewhere, I'll discover at least four more typos that spellcheck and I somehow missed. That's just the way it goes, I guess.

The hard part is learning to trust your instincts. Not your knee-jerk defensive reaction when someone suggests that perhaps you could cut the backstory dump in chapter one. Your instincts. Those are the voices inside that pause and consider, but then say 'no, that's not going to work for that character because her drive for self-acceptence hinges on that one feature' when an editor asks you to make your brown eyed heroine's eyes blue. Honing instinct is hard work. It takes practice and it takes making mistakes. But once you do, you won't need to ask when you're done revising. You'll know.

How to Know When You're Done Revising

The holiday season always reminds me of being a little kid and sitting through those long dinners that seemed to last forever. The adults would talk and talk about boring things. Eventually I would ask "Can I be done now?" And be corrected to ask if I could be excused. But the first question would be more true. Please tell me I can be done now, so I can move on to other things.

That's the good and bad of being a kid - you have to get permission to be done, but it also relieves you of the responsibility of having to decide for yourself. As anyone who gained a Freshman 10, 15 or 20 in college discovered, learning when you're done - and applying the discipline to stop there - is not an easy proposition.

I know a lot of writers who type THE END at the finish of their manuscripts. It gives them a sense of satisfaction and complete. A certain amount of triumph. This has never been a thing for me. Not that I don't enjoy that exhausted elation of finishing the draft, but it never feels like the end to to me.

Because, really - and we all know this, yes? - it's not really done at all.

Even writers who write really clean first drafts are not done at that point. For those rare sparkly unicorns who send it to their editors immediately, they still have at least copy edits to do. Even if a writer is self-publishing and chooses to skip any revision or editing, there's still formatting to do.

But, for most writers, there's a vast and rolling journey that lies between typing that last sentence and seeing the book in the reader's hands. For some it's a fairly straightforward back and forth of a series of revisions and edits - there and back again. For others, it's the equivalent of walking into Mordor.

Some never come back.

Why is this? Because there is no one, absolutely no one in this world who can tell you that you're done with a book.

There's no such thing.

It's never done.

The sooner you accept this, the more Zen you'll be.

There never, ever comes a point where a book or story can't be tweaked just a little more. Proofed once again. Massaged just a titch.

So how do you know when you're done? If there's no one to excuse you from the table, how do you know it's time to stop?

Only you can know.

I apologize if the title of this post was misleading. I'm really not trying to pull a bait and switch here.

The thing is, know when you're done is part of growing  up as an author. It's one of the most difficult parts to learn. Just as we all grow up and learn when enough food is enough, when to stop partying and go home to get some sleep, when a friendship is no longer good for us, a grown-up author has to learn when a story is ready.

This goes both directions. Sometimes we're ready to be done and don't want to hear that a story isn't working. Other times it's scary to let go and let the chips fall where they may, so we kept it for just one more pass. And, yes, you can absolutely revise too much.

As with all these examples, it takes maturity and honesty to decide. It takes that long, hard look in the mirror to examine your motivations.

Somewhere, deep in your heart, you always know.

It's up to you to listen to the answer and act on it.