To Grow as a Writer, Let Go of the Manuscript

Sometimes, the hardest part about being a writer is letting go of your manuscript and sending it out to an editor.

The world you’d created, breathed life into and fleshed out with characters might not be viewed in the same way as you view it.  Neither will Person A read it the same way as Person B.  It can be very nerve-wracking to share one’s writing with a close friend or a relative, let alone having an editor look it over.

It can also be frustrating if you and the editor do not have compatibility in working together or have extreme ideas about your work.  If this happens, do not be afraid to thank the editor, pay them for their time and seek out someone else.  [1]  It is in the best interest of your writing that you find an editor with whom you can communicate, learn from their notes and enjoy a working professional relationship with.  [2]

Handing one’s work over to an editor requires a few things on the part of the writer:

  • vulnerability (to allow one’s work be criticized);
  • courage (to accept that one’s work might not be everyone’s cup of tea);
  • a willingness to work (by way of notes from the editor);
  • patience (because each work, writer and editor have different styles and needs).

As a writer myself, I understand how difficult it is to allow another set of eyes to read your work and form an opinion that might not always be flattering.  It is nerve-wracking, unsettling and you live on pins and needles until you get your manuscript back with notes.  And when the initial shock is over and you get back to work, using those notes as a guide, you discover that what was good can be made better.

When going over your editor’s notes, make sure you have that most important tool – coffee.

 

[1] It has been my experience that editors will generally have a minimum number of hours that they’re willing to work.  This is helpful as you search for one that you can work well with.

[2] You can always learn from an editor you like and work well with, but don’t throw out what was gained from the editor you didn’t work well with.  You may find, after some time has passed, that their thoughts were right on the money, though not perhaps not phrased in a way that you were willing to hear.

A Sample Edit (Stage Script)

“Brevity is the soul of wit.”

So sayeth Polonius, in William Shakespeare’s tragedy, Hamlet.

In a rather pedantic and wordy speech where he makes this statement, Polonius (father of Ophelia and Laertes) is advising his listener, Claudius, (and the audience) that being brief will get to the heart of the matter.

In other words, cut out the unnecessary words and get to the point.

While revising my two-act stage play, I joked about how easy it was to tell that I’m a novelist, not a playwright.  How did I come by this observation?  The obvious culprit is the word count – as I revised my script, I cut some lines down from twenty words to ten.  The line still conveyed what I wanted it to say, but it was concise, it was clear, and, more importantly, understood.

Look at the image to the right:

Original draft.

The dialogue between Catamitus and Melpomene is incredibly wordy, more suited to a novel than a script.  Whether it’s a screenplay or a stage play, the dialogue must be crisp, tight and minimal to do its work.

While some scriptwriters/playwrights can get away with wordy passages, it’s in part because A. They’ve been writing a long time in that form and know the rules and how to use them or break them; and B. The language is still concise and to the point.

Scripts are for a visual medium, whether it’s for the screen or for the stage – the audience is presented with subtext that can be seen via the actors and the cameras.  There is no need for the narrative filler, as in a short story or novel – the director and the actors bring that to life through trial and error in rehearsal.

Let’s take a look at the revised version of the scene:

Revised draft.

Compare the original draft with the revised version to the left.  Notice that the lines have been revised and arranged differently.

Did the intent change from Original Draft to the Revised Version?

No, the intent is still the same between Catamitus and Melpomene – resolving the confusion surrounding the issue of hotel reservations.  Notice how the dialogue has been broken up, refined and shortened – when in performance, the dialogue is snappy, almost coming one on top of the other.

That is the purpose of revision – to produce a maximum image or emotion while using the minimum amount of words.  Whether it’s a script or a short story or a novel, less is more and writing is constant re-writing.

From a Writer’s Point of View

As a writer, it’s important to me to create the best possible work I can. In order to do that, I need an objective pair of eyes to comb through the manuscript, picking out character agency, weak plot points, and grammar. There are methods for doing this yourself, but I don’t recommend it, as you may overlook details (or lack thereof) that someone else will find.

When going over your editor’s notes, make sure you have that important tool – coffee.

Whether it’s a novel, a script or a short story, every writer will create a not-so-great first draft. In order to shape it into something better, a writer then turns to an editor for assistance. In some cases, an editor can help with a story that has stalled out half way through.

When I was working on my current novel, I stalled out in the middle. I’d already cannibalized a short story into the novel, which gave it layers I hadn’t expected. However, I had no sense of what was going to happen next. There were a couple of scenes written out, but I had no idea of where to put them, and no clear, definitive, final wrap-up to the story.

I was stuck, in the truest sense of the word. I needed help. So I found an editor who helped to jump-start a new direction for the Narrator and the story itself. In two five-hour editing sessions, I had gotten past the block and found myself at the story’s end.

How did this happen? I set aside my ego and listened to what my editor had to say. There were points I didn’t necessarily agree with, which pushed me to find a way to make those points work within the story. If I was successful, they stayed in – if not, I ultimately took them out. It was a difficult thing to do, excising portions of my novel (particularly if it was a character I liked), but that’s what the sequel is for. [1]

Ultimately, as a writer, if I want my work to improve, I need to pay attention to my editor, who also acts as my mentor. The relationship between an editor and a writer is symbiotic – when the two click, the work is a joy (even if it’s still frustrating). When it doesn’t, thank the editor for their time and effort and look for someone with whom you can develop a long, professional relationship with.

Every experience with an editor, even one that doesn’t work out, is a positive one – it helps you focus on your work, your voice and your goal.

That goal? To hone your craft and create your best work.

A blank page is both exciting and terrifying.
Where will that first word lead?

[1] The character in question went through nine name changes and switched nationalities – if he hadn’t been so endearing, I’d have written him off long ago.

Choose Your Words Wisely

When beginning his next novel, Stephen King will spend weeks, if not months, on perfecting the story’s opening sentence.  He does this to find that particular invitation readers will find too tempting to pass up.  When he has that perfect opening sentence, the rest of the story flows.

To craft that opening line, which establishes character and setting, you need to have something that hooks the reader.  To do that,  you need to find the right words to unlock the idea you’ve been haunted by into something larger.

Speaking of haunted – here’s an example of a gripping opening line by the incomparable Shirley Jackson:

No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. [1]

Immediately following that sentence is the introduction of Hill House, reputedly haunted, not lived in and still kept in pristine order by a couple from the local village.  Each sentence builds on the next and you are drawn into the lives of four people, determined to prove that Hill House is haunted.  Although it averages two hundred or so pages, it is tightly constructed, spare and ambiguous, leaving you wondering – is Hill House haunted or is it all a figment of Eleanor’s mind?

And neatly tying it all together, the final sentence of the novel echoes the final sentence of the opening paragraph – and whatever walked there, walked alone.

[1] The Haunting of Hill House (1959)

(The annotation below is brilliant.)

View at Medium.com

An Editor’s Tale

Earlier this year, in a conversation I had with a potential client, we were discussing the details of what they were expecting from me regarding their manuscript.  When it was indicated that they were planning to self-publish their novel, I asked about the time frame and was startled to hear them say six weeks from our initial consult.  They also indicated that editing was the last thing needed before they went forward with it.

This raised several red flags for me, but I’m only going to take the time to discuss two of them, as they are pertinent to editing.

First, that they wanted to publish it within six weeks of the initial consult.  This makes the editor’s job harder to do.  Why?  Because editing is a process – the editor combs through the manuscript, making notes for the writer to help create a stronger piece.  Then the manuscript is sent back to the writer, who needs to go through and incorporate the notes given.  This process occurs multiple times, until the editor deems it polished and ready to send out.

Creating a tight deadline of six weeks is only setting up everyone involved for failure and that was the second red flag.  This puts stress on the editor, who is working hard to give clear and concise notes on what can be improved.  It also puts stress on the writer, who may begin to feel resentment towards the editor.  This can cause relations between the two to grow tense and unprofessional, a situation that is undesirable.  A deadline is good to have, as long as it is realistic and achievable, but it helps to be flexible.

Going back to my potential client, I was able to convey the problems with this, offered a few suggestions in the meantime and, with respect, had to turn it down.  Will they come back to me later on, with a more reasonable deadline?  Maybe.  I’d like to think so, since I was able to give them something to work with.

In the end, I had to go with being honest and respectful of their work and my time.  I’d rather lose work that way than create a hostile situation where no one wins.

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