How To Edit Your Novel With (Something Like) Objectivity

After a year-long hiatus, I'm finally in full editing mode for Spellbound (soon to be called... something else). I did another novel Incident Report and figured out that (cue cringe) more than three-fourths of the novel needs to be rewritten or tossed. Big things need to happen: a villain needs to be added and a protagonist needs to go. I'm shocked that there was ever a time when I couldn't see these things, but I couldn't. I took a year-long editing course in 2010 and still couldn't. I've been wondering what it is that's given me the objectivity I needed to see all of my novel's flaws.

A beloved teacher and writer once told me that editing one's own work requires two things above all others: the ability to be Detached and Methodical. In editing my own work (and working as a professional editor where being methodical was practically a religion), I think I've pinpointed the things that help writers to be these two important things:

1. Create some distance. Most parents wills tell you that it's difficult to be objective when it comes to their kids. For writers, its the same way. They struggle to take criticism and to dole any out because, well, their characters and plot line are perfect JUST THE WAY THEY ARE. But you have no way of knowing that until you can look at them with some objectivity. I find the best way to create objectivity is giving it time. I put Spellbound away--didn't look at it, barely thought about it--for almost a year. That's a really long time, but it's enabled me to step away from the story and view it as someone else would, with fresh eyes. You don't have to wait a year to feel this effect: even a few days can help.

2. Create some distance by making it look 'real'. Get your book printed out and bound. Making it look all shiny and professional performs some kind of magic trick, making it easier to see the work as someone elses. Seeing it as someone elses helps you to rip into it without so much angst. Lately, I've also discovered the lovely effects of putting your book onto your Kindle. All you have to do is email the document as an attachment to your Kindle account and put 'convert' in the subject line, and bam: the thing looks like any other book you've got on there. Reading through my drafts this way really helps me get some objectivity.

3. Create an editing checklist. I learned this once the hard way when editing travel guides. Editing--no matter what it is you're editing--is hard. It's overwhelming and hard. But in order to be efficient at it, you need to break it down into manageable steps. When I proofed travel guides, I wrote out checklists for myself. If I was in the proofing stage, they would look something like this:

- check that page numbers are present/correct

- proof photo captions

- Make sure that photos are placed correctly

- make sure that all map icons and headings are correct

- check that photo credits are present and correctly spelled... etc.

I'd go through spread by spread, making sure to tackle every element I needed to check as part of an individual step. When you look through a manuscript for everything that could be wrong all at once, it's impossible to catch it all. But when you break it up you miss fewer mistakes, and the ones that are there are clearer to you. Try a checklist out. It's MAGIC.

4. Start from the end. I always used to read my stuff front to back, over and over. The problem is that once you get to the end, your editing eyes (and editing brain) are all sorts of tired out. Sometimes reading from back to front helps bring back some objectivity and lets you see your work in a whole new light.

5. Ask for help. Get someone you trust to read your work. I've got critique partners who will give it to me straight up, without any fruity syrup or dollops of whip cream. Critique can be painful, but it can help you more than anything else can.

I'm fixing to rewrite/fix up a scene a day of Spellbound until I've got an all-new-and-improved second draft. Hopefully in about a month's time I'll have something to show for it.

The Right Beginning

Recently, I had a critique partner tell me that my first attempt at a novel (Spellbound) 'didn't really start' until around page 7. I was, initially, thrown by this. Those first seven pages were (I thought) filled with important context and building tension. But then I got to thinking about those slippery things, beginnings: how do you know if where you start your story is where your story actually begins?

This seems like it should be a simple question, but it's one I continue to grapple with. Kristin, an American literary agent, says that maybe 70% of her slush pile is filled with stories that don't 'start' until 30 or more pages in. She attributes the fact that these manuscripts are slow out of the gate to two things: backstory and minutiae. She thinks that a lot of writers (especially beginners) feel the need to set up the story- character, tension, motivation, setting- before the story can really get going. She also blames the writers' desire to cover up slow starters by giving too much detail up front. Both of these tactics bog down the story- not good when you're trying to get a reader hooked. And that's the thing about beginnings. It doesn't matter if it's a friend, an agent, or a stranger- you want them to pick up your story, skim the first few lines, and find it difficult to pull their eyes away. I'm beginning to think that my story doesn't do that.

Take, for example, the beginning of Mudbound by Hillary Jordan:

Henry and I dug the hole seven feet deep. Any shallower and the corpse was liable to come rising up during the next big flood: Howdy boys! Remember me? The thought of it kept us digging even after the blisters on our palms had burst, reformed and burnt again. Every shovelful was an agony- the old man, getting in his last licks. Still, I was glad of the pain. It shoved away thought and memory.

This opening plunks us in the middle of the action; it also tells us volumes about the speaker. The fact that he's digging his own father's grave is enough to get you interested. But besides that, the reader is shown Jamie's detached feelings towards his father, his light but bitter tone, the hardship of his current position in life, and the aching desire to forget. Tension. Backstory. Character. All without once slowing down the story.

I've found plenty of suggestions for how to make sure your story starts where it should. Someone suggested that the 'moment of change' is the best place to start, or by opening with a scene that serves as a kind of case study for what is wrong with a character's life. But that leaves me wondering how a reader can appreciate the significance of that change if they don't know anything about the character it's happening to?

One writer advised cutting your prologue and first chapter, then manually circling the crucial things in it that readers needed to know and threading that information into the rest of the story. Readers aren't dumb- they'll pick backstory up as they go along, as long as you're skilled enough to thread it in. That, to me, seems like the trick here: to thread all of that crucial backstory into the ongoing story in a way that keeps the plot ever moving. Terry Brooks said something along the lines of 'nothing starts at the beginning- everything starts in the middle of something, so do yourself and your readers a service and start in the middle of something interesting.'

I've read a lot of advice along the lines of 'when editing, focus on the story your readers want to enjoy- not the story you wrote to get to know your characters'. I suppose, since this was my first shot at a novel, I never thought of those two as mutually exclusive. I assumed that readers would want, even need, those pages of character building in order to appreciate the drama that comes next. The more I think about it, though, the more I see the wisdom there. First drafts are about finding the story. It's like treasure hunting, really. You to dig through lots of literary dirt before you get to the heart of the story you're trying to tell.

For me, the crucial question is this: is the first seven pages of my manuscript just so much literary dirt? Or is it necessary, interesting context? Where does my story actually begin?

In an earnest attempt to answer this question, I'm attaching the beginning of Spellbound below (I know it's full of cliches and too much description and slightly stilted dialogue. Ignore it for me, mmmK?). If any of you feel inclined to cast your eyes over my current beginning, all I want to know is this: when, for you, does it start to get interesting? Where do you think my story begins?

***

I heard it before we turned the corner: the familiar crank and rattle of rusty rides, the tinny plinking of the merry-go-round. I could smell the sickly-sweet cotton candy, almost taste it on the moist twilit air. The Summer Carnival was spinning to life behind our high school, filling the growing dark with happy shouts and jeers. The happy crowd buzzed and hummed by the ticket booth, laughing their oh-so-familiar laughs. I fought the urge to turn around and go home.

It wasn’t that I was entirely unsociable- I just understood what I was heading towards. My entire school would be there, all four hundred and eighty two of us, picking like carrion birds over who had changed two months into summer break. In teenage time, two months could make or break you: new muscles and a good tan could get you an all-expenses-paid trip into a new life. Summer hadn’t gifted me with anything to shout about: just bigger feet and a fresh patch of pimples. I was still an unimpressive, scrawny 5’9. Carnival was a glaring reminder of how much everything hadn’t changed.

“Come on, Jack, quit dragging your goofy feet,” Spence called.

I lengthened my stride to try and catch up with him. Keeping up with Spencer was becoming a challenge. His legs had stretched out like rubber bands, pushing him into another stratosphere. Hard labor on his family’s farm had given him biceps and bulked-up shoulders. Standing next to him all night wasn’t going to do me any favors. We snaked through the line at the front entrance, the music getting louder with every step we took.

“Time to check out the fresh meat!” Spencer said, spreading his hands out as if surveying an untouched buffet. “There’s going to be some prize pickings coming up this year. You know that little redhead who had gym with us in eighth?”

“The Langley girl? She’s, like, twelve years old.”

“Untrue. Tracy’s fourteen, going on available. You’ve got to get them young before the Big Dumb Football Animals.”

“Honestly, Spence,” I laughed. “Standards.”

Once we’d bought our tickets, we made our way to the crowded, dusty strip of grass that ran down the Carnival’s spine. The sun slipped down behind the hills, dragging the humidity in its wake like a cloak. The tops of the bigger tents and food stalls were black outlines against the orange sky. Families were heading home to their beds, kids wilted over their shoulders like sacks full of flour. I recognized every one of them as they passed, even some of the relatives that had come in from the next town over. Our town was that depressingly small. You were constantly surrounded by the same faces, circling around you like bad TV reruns.

I surveyed the crowd as it thinned out, leaving my classmates behind. The Carnival was about to become their personal playground; I could feel the knowledge spreading outwards like a fog. The Big Dumb Animals had begun to prowl, looking in their red and black Hominy Hummingbirds jerseys like a pack of slithering eels. Girls gathered in laughing herds, plucking fussily at short skirts. They weaved in and out of sight around us, making me feel strangely boxed in, despite the crowd’s thinning. As we made our way past a line of brightly-lit games stalls, a group of sophomore girls floated by us. Marjorie Allen batted her large, startled-looking eyes at us. The spillover happening at the top of her shirt made my cheeks feel warm.

“Hey, Spence,” she said, gazing at him over her shoulder.

“Hey, Beautiful,” he called after her. “You going to ride with me on the Wheel later, or what?”

“If you’re lucky,” she said. The other girls giggled, then huddled together.

Spence turned on me and frowned.

“Why didn’t you say anything to Jenny?”

“Who, Jenny Morris?” I said.

“Um, yeah,” Spence said, giving me his oh-Jack you idiot face. “She’s staring at you like she’s thinking of unhinging her jaw and swallowing you.”

I used my sleeve to wipe at my glasses, which had picked up a film of reddish dust. They were goofy and old-fashioned, but I couldn’t afford contacts and was halfway blind without them. I pushed them up my nose and looked at the girls again. Jenny was definitely looking in our direction, but not at me. I was probably blocking her view of someone else.

“Don’t think so. I appreciate the optimism, though.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Spence said. “I’m never going to find you a girl when you insist on being hopeless.”

I was uncomfortable with what I knew were the beginnings of a familiar argument, so I groped for something to distract him. It didn’t prove all that hard.

“So, you’re into Marjorie now? I thought you liked Janet?”

“Who says I’m not allowed to like both? Did you see Marjorie’s assets?” Spence held his hands out in front of his chest as if clutching two invisible gourds. “A man can’t ignore that kind of treasure.”

I let Spence go on as we walked down the dusty strip, comparing Marjorie’s assets to those of the hundred other girls that Spencer flirted with, nodding periodically. We worked our way around the merry-go-round. The colored lanterns hanging above us cast us all in a fog of red and blue.

We’d made our way to the Carnival’s heart, which was lined with small tents and game stalls. I saw Rob Bowman and the rest of his set standing by the duck shooting range, talking to a couple of freshman. I instinctively peeled the other way, around a strength-weighing machine and out of his line of sight. I hated myself for it, but that didn’t stop me from doing it. I headed for one of the less crowded laneways and waited for Spence to catch up to me before I started walking on. He gave me a questioning look, but said nothing.

“Hey, this one’s new,” Spence said, pulling up short.

We stopped in front of a dark green tent whose flaps were closed, unlike the others. There was a wooden sign above the entrance scrawled with ornate gold lettering- ‘Rosemary’s Tarot Readings: $10’. Spence was looking at me with that glitter in his eyes that meant trouble.

“No freaking way, Spence.”

“Come on! It’ll be funny.” He nudged me in the ribs. “Don’t you want to know your future?”

“From someone who relies on a deck of cards to make major life decisions? I’ll pass.”

“Come on,” Spence said, wagging his eyebrows. “I want to know whether Marjorie’s worth the effort.”

“Remind me why we’re friends again?” I said.

“Because without me, you’d lose the will to live.”

I blew out a frustrated breath, which we both knew was just for show.

“Fine, but you’re paying,” I said.

Spence smiled and pulled back the tent flap.

A thick cloud of incense assaulted my nostrils from the depths of the close, cave-like space. Lit candles covered every surface, making it feel church-like, almost like a shrine. A woman in a dark Renaissance-style dress sat behind a velvet-draped table. Her dark green eyes were huge and cat-like. They looked me over as if deciding whether I was worth the effort it would take to digest me.

“Welcome, boys,” she said, her voice dripping with practiced smoothness. “Which of you will be going first?”

“He will,” Spence said, shoving me forward. I glared back at him. He had his hands out in a gesture that I assumed was meant to stop me from fleeing. I sat down, crossing my arms across my chest.

“Welcome, my child,” she said, shuffling a stack of cards against her palm.

I wondered if I could bail out without being blatantly rude. I studied the woman’s cakey makeup, the grin so hard it looked as if it would shatter her cheeks, and felt instantly on guard. What kind of a name was Rosemary, anyway? She must have figured that something from the spice rack would make her sound more authoritative.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Rosemary said, “we’ll begin.”

“Alright,” I mumbled. I heard Spence chuckle behind me and I cursed myself for being such a pushover.

Rosemary laid three cards face down on the table. “Each one represents a different chapter of your life,” she said. “One is your past, one your present, one your future.” She pointed at the cards in turn with purple, talon-like nails. “We’ll flip them over one at a time and see what they have to reveal.”

***

Strip, Baby!

This week, I was given some writing homework. I had to create a scene map for Spellbound- a chart, essentially- breaking the story down chapter by chapter. I had to list every scene in one short sentence, then step back and ogle at my story... naked. Kim (my lovely and fabulous tutor) assured me that this would let me see what needed to be cut- identify what stuff is my story and what stuff just... isn't.

Have you ever been in a dressing room, twirling around in front of the mirror in a dress you really, really like? You saw it in the shop window and knew it would be perfect for that wedding/big date/thing you have going on next month. The thing is... it doesn't quite fit. It's the right size, but it doesn't hug you the way it should. More than that, it just isn't you the way you thought it would be. You don't want to believe it, so you start to justify: the price is right, you're tired of shopping, the cut of the sleeves looks nice on your arms. Say what you want... you know it isn't right. So strip off that sucker and start again!

That's editing. As soon as I had all my scenes down on paper, I was astonished how easy it was to see what needed to go. Chapter 3 involved my main character, Jack, sitting in a windowsill and thinking about life. I'm all for retrospective sitting, but he does it for three pages... and the thing with introspective sitting is that it can be, well, a little boring. Some of it is necessary, because it says a lot about Jack's desires and motivations, but a lot of it just... isn't. And until now, I couldn't bring myself to cut it. Why? Because... I liked it. I thought that sentences like 'They were like a stone dropped into water, sending strange symptoms rippling through the air' were pretty and thoughtful. They were some of the first words of Spellbound that I committed to paper, so they were special. They just didn't fit. So I cut them.

I've always found cutting a hateful process, but this time it actually felt quite good. Empowering, even. I was able to identify what I didn't need and actually make myself delete it without any angst. If that's not a step in the RIGHT editing direction, then I don't know what is.

2,210 words cut so far (and that's just from the first three chapters)- 2,210 words closer to finding that dress for Spellbound.

Spellbound's Back Cover

Last night, left to my own devices, I stayed up into the wee hours writing a blurb for Spellbound. I'm taking an editing course this year at the Queensland Writer's Centre, which consists of five day-long classes designed to make me a better editor. It's being taught by author Kim Wilkins, of whom I am an adoring fan. She's written to ask all participants to send her a (very) short synopsis of our stories. So I sat up with my weak iced coffee (Manfriend is better at making those) and worked on my blurb.

I have to say, it was kind of hard. I kept trying to envision the back cover of my published book, what choice words it would contain to lure readers into my story. I've read thousands upon thousands of back cover blurbs, so I didn't think it would be all that hard. The thing is... it was. Condensing this beast that you've spent countless months on into two very short paragraphs is like me trying to squeeze into my Sophomore-in-high-school jeans. Seriously? You want this giant thing to fit into that tiny space? I've written tons of journalism pieces that had to be under 100 words, but those were a cake walk in comparison. Maybe because I have a lot to say about Spellbound. Or maybe I'm just a wordy bastard.

In a class I took with Kim in 2008, she told us that she loves writing her blurbs. She likes to say that it's good preparation: if you can't sum up your story and spool it out in thirty seconds, then how are you ever going to sell it? Writing a blurb means plucking out your story's unique strengths. It means finding those threads that will make a reader turn the book over and open it to Page 1.

So here is my first attempt at writing a blurb for Spellbound:

16- year old Jack Lawson doesn’t believe in magic; he believes in the sad predictability of his ordinary life. That’s before he spies on the Sparrows, the mysterious and beautiful neighbors he’s been obsessed with for years. Jack witnesses a ritual he isn’t meant to see, one that gifts him with frightening powers that turn his ordinary life upside-down. Jack’s unpredictable fire magic plunges him into the secret world of the Sparrow witches, where everything he thought he knew is called into question. To stay sane, Jack must learn to tame his magic- including his ability to hear and see people’s thoughts- but for that, he needs help.

Help comes in the form of the enigmatic Lorna, the girl Jack pines for from afar. As they grow closer, Jack realizes that he’s bound to Lorna in a way that is both dangerous and intoxicating.

Jack’s in with the Sparrows girls ruffles more than a few feathers, so when a boy is found dead at school with Jack and Lorna standing over him, it doesn’t take long for rumors to fly. Whispers turn into accusations and thoughts turn into threats, pushing Jack further away from the friends and family he thought he knew. Jack must fight against this new-found violence to save Lorna, the Sparrows, and himself.

Do you feel like you know what kind of story you're looking at? Would you pick this up for you/a friend/some teenager you know who likes this sort of thing? I feel like there are crucial elements I've left out, so I'll keep working on it until I get it right. Until then, it's time to get back to editing!

How to Start Over?

So, in 2008/09, I wrote my first novel. It's a sprawling, rough-around-the-edges first novel, but it's there: thousands of words in what I hope is an interesting sequence. I've proven to myself that I can sit down and do it without driving myself, and my Manfriend, completely insane.

Now that the last of the celebratory brownies are gone and I've gotten over the "Look what I did!", let's-hang-it-on-the-fridge stage, I find my mind whirring with shiny new ideas. One has become particularly sharp. Over Christmas, three main characters materialized in my head, waking me up at weird hours, distracting me from conversations in which I should be participating (that job interview probably wasn't my best...). This is the exciting part, when ideas bloom freely, unimpeded by ability or the strictures of practicality, trembling with promise. I've got a pile of haphazard notes about my setting, plot, and main themes. I think I'm ready to start again.

I find myself staring at the beginnings of an outline and thinking... how did I do this again?

Every writer has a process for getting from idea to completed first draft. You'd think, after writing my first novel (titled Spellbound until further notice), I'd know all about what I need to do. And yet, I find myself wondering if the way I did it last time was actually the best way for me. It took me a year and a half to write Spellbound (in retrospect, about eight months too long). It was a jerky process of stop-and-start, stumbling forward with only a vague idea where the plot was headed. My main character, Jack, morphed from age 13 to 16, the point of view from third to first person. I patchwork-edited as I went, which means that the story sometimes feels like a inexpertly sewn quilt, lumpy and puckered. This is making the editing process much more difficult, which is something I want to avoid in future. But how?

Here's what I think Spellbound taught me about how to write a great first draft:

1. Write every day, preferably at the same time. This seems like a no-brainer, but an important one. One of the reasons SB feels so patchwork is because there were weeks in which I wrote intensely, and some in which I didn't write at all. I allowed my fear-of-suckiness to keep me from pushing through the parts that were hard. Stopping pulled me out of the story, making it that much harder to get back in.

2. Make a relatively coherent outline before starting to write. This also seems like a no-brainer, because who can tell a story without knowing its beginning, middle, and end? Apparently, I thought I could. Other writers do this, I thought. Good writers like to fly by the seats of their badly worn, I've-been-sitting-in-my-office-chair-for-two-weeks-straight pants. I've discovered that winging it IS an important part of my process. That's when characters come alive and start to do things I didn't tell them to (naughty minxes). I've discovered that while I don't need to know how it ends, I need to understand the heart of the story- what the story is REALLY about and what major events are going to drive it forward- in order to get anywhere. There need to be gaps in my outline- but not gaping holes.

3. Know thy characters. I vividly remember writing the first scene in which Jack and Lorna, my main characters in SB, meet for the first time. I knew exactly how Jack was feeling because I was stuck inside his head. His dialogue came out pretty easily, but when I tried to coax words from Lorna's mouth, they came out flat. It took me a week and countless re-writes to figure out where I was going wrong. Lorna was only an idea, not a person: I knew as much about her as Jack did, which was very little. I didn't know what her motivation was, or how she felt about Jack, so I couldn't know how she would react. I had to go back and get to know her (everything past, present, and future) to understand what she should say. I mean, if someone asked you "What would so-and-so say if you told her that?" -and you didn't happen to know this so-and-so- how would you respond? Probably by saying something like "Umm... dunno?". I have to know my characters very, very well before I can write about them with anything like authority.

4. I like pretty pictures. It took me a while to realize this, but I'm a very 'visual' person. Photographs and illustrations that capture the essence of what I'm writing make all the difference when it comes to inspiration. This is especially true when I live in a tropical locale that blurs and generally wilts my mind's picture of my New England setting. I've put up two massive cork boards on my wall and filled them with Novel #2-inspired cut-outs: snow-draped forests, foggy fields, topaz gems. These pictures provide an important creative push on those days when I'm just not feeling it.

5. It's OK to go back- just not too far! I've read a lot of writers who say that, when writing a first draft, you shouldn't look back. Just keep writing and save the editing for when the thing is finished. Even when properly caffeinated, I need a little recap of what I wrote the day before. Reading back just a few pages helps to pull me back into the story and keep me on track. It also reminds me, on those days when every word I type feels like drivel, that there are really good things hiding underneath the crap. Your writing is always better than you thought it was.

The other thing I've learned? You need to stop allowing yourself to procrastinate via Facebook and Gmail and... blogs.

And so, back to the drawing board!