Today, I’m rerunning a blog from a couple of years ago. It’s interesting that I’m yet again in the editing process…and oddly enough, it’s the same book. Only it’s not the same book. This book is much better. It has grown from a gangly little ugly duckling, into a less gangly, slightly less ugly, near-adult swan. Ok, that makes it seem like it hasn’t improved, which doesn’t say much for my first foray into editing it. But it has. This round of edits comes from an incredibly talented and experienced editor from the publisher the book was picked up by. So, it has progressed, and it goes to show, that every book can always be better.
But, after a few hours of starting the first round of collaborations, I realized that old habits concerning editing for writers, can be hard to break. While I know my bugaboos, and I’m infinitely better at accepting constructive advice and putting aside my writerly pride, than I once was, it can still feel daunting when faced with all of those track changes remarks. I’m here to remind you, in this process to don’t give in when it gets daunting. Don’t give in to pride, when what you’re being told makes sense. So, without further ado, here’s a little piece on editing.
EDIT SOMBER
Nope, that’s not a typo. You’ve all heard the adage (or if you’re a writer worth their Peter DeVries salt you have…)
“Write drunk, Edit sober.”
I’m not going to recommend you write drunk. You can… It’s totally possible, and more often than not, highly amusing the morning after. Unlike the headache you’ll be nursing.
DeVries’ meaning was simpler. Write with abandon, in love, fervent and without inhibition. Lower your boundaries and kiss the words you wouldn’t normally, dance with phrases you’d been afraid to hold in your arms. Grab the lampshade of crazy plot twist and wear that son-of-a-bitch as a hat while you twirl through the story.
But in the morning…edit like you’re highly regretful and aiming to pinpoint every mistake you’d made the night before so as to never repeat the debauchery again. Be remorseful. Be judgemental, and like the Spanish Inquisition, show no mercy.
I’m in, let’s say the twelfth round of editing on my WIP. A round that was inspired by a recent submission editor’s advice. This time I’m proceeding with a more somber attitude, one that knows I wrote it, in part, like a drunken idiot and now have dropped my ego enough to be receptive to the advice.
Never before have I been so close to getting a traditional publishing contract for one of my books. Part of this is due to a more polished product (it’s not my first rodeo…or book kids), a more general genre and subject (why do people shy away from paranormal romances and hot ghost sex?), and, I like to think, a cute, relatable plot that’s just enough dark to be interesting.
So, I’m buckling down and doing what I was told to help get this baby off the ground. I’m about thirty pages in and catching some of the ‘problems’ that were brought to my attention. But as I work, I have a concern:
How much of myself and my voice am I taking out of this thing to appeal to the personal likes/dislikes of one editor.
So we come back to somber. Serious. Earnest. Grave. Unsmiling.
Sometimes there are hoops we have to jump through to get to where we want to go. Sometimes we have to shelve our pride and ego and be willing to see past what we love about our work to what could be better.
How do we make sure it’s not just some dime-store novella like the fifty other ones on the shelf? How do I make sure, with all the dead darlings lying beside my computer, that its still my story?
I don’t know those answers exactly, but I’ll tell you what I do know.
I know my characters and the way they react to situations and each other. And where my grammatical prowess may be lacking, I will always stay loyal to them first. When the critique is centered on prepositions or wordy description, I can be earnest in cutting it clean. And not only will my story be stronger, it will be easier to read…hopefully to the point where hands don’t want to let go of it until they finish “just one more chapter”.
So my advice for this week is this:
Take good advice from people in the industry who know when it comes to the technical mishaps of your work. Take the advice to tighten your writing from people who have to spend hours of their lives sifting through the slushiest of slush piles.
But always keep true to the drunken passion of your story that made your heart dance and giggle while it awkwardly pulled that plot line in for a kiss. Keep your story’s heart, but don’t be afraid to pluck it’s wayward eyebrows and wipe its nose.
Good luck, in whatever step you are of your process. Editing, writing, or contemplation of either.
Happy writing, kids!
Found when they find me i will be alone the questions and headshakes directed in quizzical depths to the loam and silt they cannot sort through no reasoning to be caught in bucket or screen when they find me dressed as animals are in the skin i was in the day i roared into the plain i will shock in cold white filled with trout breath and minnow kisses When they find me broken shell battered lovely in purple and blue head struck rock knee scraped branches lips in shades to make mountain bluebell envious they will lament such wasted splendor when they find me the questions of why i was lost to the brine a jointer to the self-takers before me whispers will static the air of all the ways i failed and too long loitered in futility when they find me they will burn the empty package while I sneak, soul-snake in water down river bends to the sea never to be found again This Isn't a Poem for You So this isn’t a poem for the broken hearted it is not for those who were left behind or ghosted or dumped or abused or disregarded This is a poem for those who watched as another soul walked away sat in their silence was released from another person’s life faced pain at their hands or were simply ignored into nothingness… You are the warriors of time you, who have felt the sting of heart break and disappointments you are the carriers of grief and the bodies made of scars and you have lived through every burning cut and every lonely night This is not for the soul they broke, this is for the you that survived. This is not a sermon from some high tower that you are stronger for it that you are braver because of it that you are a better person a heart bigger, with these new and ragged cracks to let the light in I will only tell you what I know You survived. you packed up your heart and your mind and you moved on you accepted their silence you treated your wounds and closed the door you started paying attention to yourself when they no longer did and that carries weight self determination and the ability to move past the fickle and soft-seated lies, of a love always perched to flee the very second things got hard Your feet remain grounded and you outlasted You heart is a seasoned warrior and it may never let another in but it doesn’t have space anyway because in their absence beyond the echoes of their abuse the pain of their mistreatment, you’ve filled your heart with the unfaltering love of yourself they can’t ever move back in there isn’t room any more.
Sarah Reichert Author 