I’m stepping away from my series on how I learned to write and publish to talk about something I’m deeply involved with: REVISION. It’s in all caps so you’ll notice it, and to give it the gravitas it requires. You could also imagine Aretha Franklin singing it one letter at a time. Because I know that somewhere a writer is resisting going into a revision of their novel, story, grocery list, and screaming… Agh! It’s fine how it is.
Trust me. It isn’t.
I’m currently working with my editor on the first big revision of my new novel, Samurai Bluegrass, coming out from Literary Wanderlust, which is an excellent press out of Colorado. My editor (who reads this substack) is awesome. And no, I’m not saying that to suck up to her. She gave me my first set of edits on the novel, and I was initially bowled over—as in the 10-pin kind, not the salad kind. She told me to let it percolate, and as I did, I of course when I did, I realized that she was right about so many things. Perhaps all the things.
Now, this is not my first rodeo, or novel, so I know that the revision process can be arduous. But a good editor will make you dig deeper, clarify what you mean, not let you hide behind literary obfuscation, and force you to generally make stuff better.
I am going to give a small example of recent edit that I worked on. This is a window into how I do it, and there are many ways to skin a cat (uh-oh, probably not supposed to say that anymore. Don’t tell my cats!) But the following is an example of how the smallest changes can make a big difference, notably in defining a character.
I was given a note that the relationship between one of the main characters, a single mom, and her father was inconsistent. At a later point in the novel, the daughter shows how she deeply cares for her father. My editor said that this did not jive with how these characters were initially introduced. She thought the relationship was strained.
I needed to go back and look at their first interaction.
Here is the scene how it was initially written:
From the beginning, the plan was a risky one, but it would’ve been a lot different had Michael stayed. The first small house they found in Etobicoke had two bedrooms, so Zach could have his own room, and it had the bonus of a cubby room that fit her drawing table perfectly. Michael was supportive of her goal of becoming an illustrator, even if he didn’t fully understand it. The not knowing was something Michael had in common with her father.
“How do you expect to make money?”
Her father sat across from her in his smokey kitchen.
“Magazines pay artists to illustrate articles—so do book companies and advertising agencies, newspapers even,” she told him.
“What’s the point of that? Why not just have someone working for the magazine draw the pictures?”
“It doesn’t work that way. They are looking for freelancers. That’s how they put the magazine together.”
“And you’ll get enough for rent out of this? Toronto rent? It’s a lot more you know. I wish I could help you, but now that I’m being forced to retire because the garage shut down. And who is—”
“I’ll make it work, Dad.”
Heather stopped him from continuing with the story she’d heard from him daily since she’d finished art school in Calgary.
Some analyzing:
Okay, Dad here is sitting in a smokey kitchen, challenging his daughter on her plan. “How do you expect to make money?” The questioning is aggressive and judgemental, “What’s the point of that?” More questions are fired, and notably there is no physical interaction between the two.
At this point… how do you feel about the dad? About their relationship? Strained?
Now, here is the revision, starting with the dialogue:
“How do you expect to make money?” her father had said, sitting across from her in his smokey kitchen.
“Magazines pay artists to illustrate articles—so do book companies and advertising agencies, newspapers even.”
“Doesn’t someone working for the magazine draw the pictures?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Dad. They’re looking for freelancers. That’s how they put the magazine together.”
“And you’ll get enough for rent out of this? Toronto rent? It’s a lot more there, you know. I wish I could help you, but now that I’m being forced to retire because the garage shut down. And who is—”
“I’ll make it work, Dad.”
She stopped him from continuing with the story she’d heard from him daily since she’d finished art school in Calgary. He crossed the room and gave her a hug.
So what changed? Not much right? But removing the “What’s the point of that,” softens the question, reworded, that follows. For me, this omission and revised question, makes the next question about rent more of a concern, rather than a harsh judgement, for his daughter.
And then there is the hug at the end. Another small but important detail.
Moving on in the scene… here is the next part of their exchange in the initial draft (Zach is her son):
“And what about, Zach? You going make enough for him, too? Why don’t you stay a few more months here. Or even a year?”
Heather took a long breath. She reached across and held her father’s hand.
“Trust me, okay. I’m strong. Just like you.”
Her father squinted, and then looked away at something he pretended to see out the window.
How do you feel about their relationship? Without the physical contact (the hug that was added in the revised) the question “And what about, Zach…” is challenging. This suggests friction between the characters.
Here’s the rewrite:
“What about, Zach? Can you make enough for him, too? Why don’t you stay a few more months here. Or even a year?”
She sucked in a long breath. She hugged her father back, and whispered in his ear.
“Trust me, okay. I’m strong. Just like you.”
Her father stepped back, then looked away at something he pretended to see out the window.
How do you feel about the relationship now? Slightly changing the wording of the dialogue, and then the physical movement of her hugging him back, and then whispering in his ear, changes the dynamic of the exchange. In the initial draft the “Trust me, okay” could be combative. But with the hug and the whisper… it changes to an intimate scene between two people who care for each other.
For me, this was a reminder of how a scene can change with only slight alterations. BTW, I couldn’t see this before. It’s so hard to see how a reader sees something. When my editor gave me that view, I saw it, too.
Perhaps it is too subtle… I’m not sure. But I do really like what happened in the rewrite. My initial intention was for the father and daughter to show love for each other, and that the father was concerned, rather than critical of his daughter. To note, the editor wasn’t telling me to do something different with the scene, or to add something that wasn’t there. Rather, she was saying make your intention clear.
It doesn’t take much, just a different lens.
Let me know what you think of this example, or share your own experience with revision (here, or shoot me a tweet.) The overused adage is still and always true, writing is rewriting. And you can add to that, “Good editors are a gift to writers.”
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Next time, I’ll return the other series (probably).
Hi Craig, Thanks for these specific examples. I'm actually looking forward to printing out my first draft and finding ways to make it sharper, clearer, more succinct. The big challenge, as you allude to, is writers know what's in their head but it needs to be on the page. Gotta try to read through the eyes of a new reader, outside your own head. Easier said than done!