Snippets of Story: Cottleston Pie

My August word-count goal of 10,000 words is coming along. Not terribly quickly, but it is mounding up, what with nearly 3,000 words in "Swing It" and another 2,000 in Cottleston Pie, not counting bits of it I am rewriting. For instance, I am switching the setting of Cottleston Pie from England (which wasn't necessary) to America, which means changing some terminology, holidays, etc. Still, after thinking on Cottleston Pie and deciding I wanted to add a couple of chapters from other points of view, I am focusing on wrapping that up and sending it to a final reader or two. I also read back through what I have in Scotch'd the Snakes and decided I need to find my notes and read up on who these important-sounding "strangers" are supposed to be up to, because I stopped writing mid-scene and quite forgot why or if they are important. Isn't that terrible? Should teach me not to suspend action for so long again. So today you get scraps of Cottleston Pie. Enjoy!

He thought he might say a few Clever and Weighty things, but the wren flew off across the purple morning and the King started his exercises: skipping thrice around the Cottleston Pie hill followed by jumping-jacks while humming “The Star Spangled Banner,” which was fantastic for getting your heart pumping if you didn’t suffocate first. When this was finished, the King did push-ups till his arms ached (after four-and-a-try, usually), and then he rolled around in the grass for a while to get the crackers out of his spine. At last, His Majeshty felt up for a stroll to clear his lungs so he’d be able to orate per usual, come breakfast.

-Cottleston Pie

"...if you’ve never taken a walk early in the morning by yourself, you can’t possibly imagine how new the world seems, how scrubbed up and polished, as with a chamois leather. Probably just for you, just this once. And yet every morning you wake up early, the world might look a little different – does look a little different – and so you form a habit of waking with it to see what clothes it puts on today because the one time you miss its wake-up face will probably be the freshest morning of all.

-Cottleston Pie

“An owlet.”

“What?”

“Is what you look like,” the King said. “Or a quail. A small one. Such as might be fixed for my birthday. If you were a quail,” he said, feeling a breakfast-less cavity gape inside him, “I would not eat you. I am magnanimous like that. Kind to my friends. Gentle-hearted. Tender, I have been called now and then.

-Cottleston Pie

Privately, the King felt ready as a buffalo, but it wouldn’t do to lord such feelings over those of the weaker type.

-Cottleston Pie

"...The quickest way to get clean is to take a bath, and wanting to be clean, I took one this morning. But while I bathed – though half the trouble is getting back into them – I took off my clothes and my crown. I put my clothes on, thank heavens!” (And here the King scrabbled his robes around himself and looked severely down on Simpian for having even suggested he might do such a thing as forget) “But I left my crown at some point between scrubbing up and playing bear.”

-Cottleston Pie

About twenty-thirty-six hours later – it had taken the King quite a while to find his crown and even longer to find anything to eat – the King once again made his way down to the field where he’d left the orphaned cloud. It was still there, which it shouldn’t have been.“Good beans,” the King muttered. “I wonder what happened to the boy."

-Cottleston Pie

Why Can't the English?

One discovers the most astonishing things while rewriting. Since once again setting me foot on my native heath (and my name's MacGregor), I've been keeping busy with fitting rewrites for Anon, Sir, Anon into my workdays. I am terribly excited this evening because today was my last day of work this week which means that Tuesday night = Friday night = "a good half-day to think about this". (Did you catch my reference?) Steadily hath I plodded, doggedly, and I am actually nearing the finish line, added suspects and all. When this is finished, it shall go back to a couple beta-readers as well as to an actual editor. The cover is almost finished, waiting only for my back-cover blurb before actual completion. On that note, if you would like to be part of the cover-reveal as well as the release-date announcement and anything of that Release Excitement Co-op, would you please send a message to heirloomrosebud@gmail.com stating your interest. I will love you forever and a million red M&Ms (another reference.)

But I was saying one comes across astonishing things.

First of all is the fact that I have some rather good turns of phrase. I don't say that pridefully ... it's just that when a line I forgot about smacks me in the face and says, "Look at me! Aren't I lovely?" I have to notice. I really had forgotten about so many and I like them. They're as good as milestones to a marathon runner in her final quarter. Rewriting also gives one the opportunity of rephrasing things. I believe wholeheartedly that my skill has grown since the writing of Fly Away Home. I know The Windy Side of Care, while having its pacing constraints, was finer stuff than that, and Anon, Sir is going to be twice better. I love finding a rough gem of a line and playing with the rhythm of it. I think I've got this rhythm thing down .. a line can be drab and you just play around a bit with the cadence and you've suddenly got a good one. Here is an example:

"Her skirt brushed his pants leg and he jerked an inch to the side so that it would not catch in his wheels."

Sensible enough but it sort of drags out at the end. I tweaked it just now:

"Her skirt brushed his pants leg and; he jerked an inch to the side so {as to avoid catching it}that it would not catch in his wheels."

The sentence now reads:

"Her skirt brushed his pants leg; he jerked an inch to the side so as to avoid catching it in his wheels."

A much better sentence as a whole. I have been enjoying this process. It's like finally getting to use a small brush rather than a large one when finishing a painting. I hope my editor will not find terribly much to change about wording. I have also kept a better eye on descriptions and tried to turn phrases that will capture the imagination and say exactly what I want the reader to feel rather than stating the thing plain:

"That scar. She drew her eyes from it but they descended again and yet again until she felt peculiarly drowned in the guilty mark."

Of course one can't drown in a scar but one can feel drowned by a thing and that is the sensation felt by Genevieve Langley in this moment. I must admit that I have begun again to like rewriting. It panics me at first but just as I near the end, I always buck up and find myself having fun. Hurrah for forgotten magic. I shall do a snippets post at some point and catch you up on the stuff.
The second astonishing thing I have found is that the trio of Farnham, Doctor Breen, and Genevieve Langley unintentionally resembles that of Henry Higgins, Colonel Pickering, and Eliza Doolittle of My Fair Lady. In temperament and character; their relationships are entirely different. I can't tell you how astonished I was when watching My Fair Lady to recognize Farnham's demeanor in "Ordinary Man". Of course, Mr. Orville Farnham is not as chauvinistic as Higgins, but there is a bit of the "women have their place" in him as much as there is a "women have their place" in Vivi. (Catch you the distinction? There is one.) And Breen, dear Doctor and alkaline substance that he is, possesses Pickering's way of gallantry and smoothing the feathers of the cross old bear.

Also, can we take a moment to appreciate the fact that there has never been and probably will never be another actress as thoroughly lovable as Audrey Hepburn (Julie Andrews is a close runner-up)? She could play anything, I believe, and she was an inspiration in her personal life. And people waste time loving Marilyn Monroe who is most famous because she had an hourglass figure and a wart. Pshhh. (I do realize she was a fine actress. I am being hyperbolic.)

"She has such a bally fine profile, Jeeves."

I want to thank everyone who has supported my work by purchasing Fly Away Home (only $2.99 on Kindle. Shameless plug.) and The Windy Side of Care inside Five Glass Slippers. In order to be heard, an author must have readers and I treasure and applaud each of you for choosing me. Thanks a million. I pounce on each new review (low-ratings or otherwise) and thank you for taking the time to write them! They are an asset to me because through them I can learn what things I might consider changing in my up-and-coming work. Quite useful! I must say that it gratified me to have not one but several people come up to me at the camp at which I worked (there were 200 people there) and remark on the fact that I was wearing a black dress to the gala, and wouldn't Wade Barnett have disapproved? It was nice, being alluded to. Anyway, have a lovely night chaps and chapesses and I hope you'll leave a comment and say hello because I love youuuuuuuuur advice. (Another reference. First person to name them all, I'll send you an autographed copy of Fly Away Home. There ought to be ... five, not including the title. There.)

"Hi, I'm a traveling bard."

There is nothing more terrifying to me as a writer than saying something is finished. Because just as soon as I say that, I keep thinking of ways I can improve the draft, changes I could have made, things I should have done. I finished editing The Windy Side of Care today and even now (literally right now) I can't help opening the document back up and scrolling through with a cagey eye, wondering if it's really good enough. I dislike word-count limits and I struggled to keep the story within the wraps of only 20,000 words. I did it, but when I got the feedback from my beta-readers, I had to go back and fix pacing. Do you know how hard that is when you have a word-limit? It was like the finest stitchery, easing paragraphs off the start of the story to allow for breathing-space at the back of it. Now I'm much more satisfied with the pacing, but it was hard there for a while, cutting scenes of masterful dialog. (Yes, I caved and saved a complete draft of the first take so that all those conversations can exist in their own dimension forever an' ever amen.) 19,989 words. That's what the current count is, and though I will probably permit myself one more scroll-through before actually sending the manuscript into Anne Elisabeth Stengl, I really am finished.

It's terrifying.

I shared this sentiment on Facebook and a wise acquaintance of mine said she had felt similarly recently until she stopped to ask herself, "Am I doing this to win or am I doing it for the joy of writing?" And just as soon as I read Emma's words, I realized that I wrote The Windy Side of Care out of the sheer fun of it. Personally, I think it's a lovely, rollicking retelling of Cinderella, full of unexpected twists and allusions. Even though Anne Elisabeth mentioned in one of her recent blog posts that she has had dozens of stories pouring in and can even tote up a pretty good list of who she thinks the winners will be (and my story hasn't even been sent in so that's a little disheartening), even though she might not even like my story or give it a second glance...why did I write it? I wrote it because I love Alis.

 I wrote it because I love Auguste. 

I wrote it because I adored the hijinks, the tongue-in-cheek, the sparring of this retelling. I wrote it strictly to please myself, and really this is where your professional platform starts to be defined:

Who do you write to please? How far are you willing to go to please them?

I have come to terms with the fact that I'm probably not the best choice for next World-Wide Best-Selling Author. Why? Because I write what it is on my heart to write. I'm not the girl who a publisher can label as "Our Next Beverly Lewis" and depend upon to write historical romance for the rest of my career. I am very comfortable in my style, voice, books and I know that Rachel Heffington probably isn't going to appeal to everyone. I don't hope for widespread fame, but for respectable recognition. Am I writing for everyone or am I okay to sing my tales to a heroic and devoted few? Some people would call my admission professional suicide. Doesn't EVERYONE aspire to be the next Novelist Everyone Loves? Well of course that'd be nice, but for me it is a clear case of exchanging the natural for the unnatural or, in simple terms, writing in my true voice or posing as someone else. I can ghost-write in pretty nearly any style--Dickens, Wodehouse, Austen, Freitag--and maybe I could spend my whole career doing that and being successful. But for me it isn't about winning, about being the best, about becoming the author everyone aspires to be like. For me it's mostly about the pleasure of creating a thing and watching other people delight in it, however few they might be. I have always felt a connection to how the Lord felt in Genesis:

"Then God said, 'Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear'; and it was so. And God called the dry land Earth and the gathering together of the waters He called Seas. And God saw that is was good." -Genesis 1:9-10

I can relate to that quiet sense of "I like this" and the satisfaction and joy that floods the soul over having made a good thing - a thing that points back to you as its creator and stayed true to your nature after you called it into being. Of course God's joy over His creation is far greater than mine in my stories could ever be, but it's a shade of the same thing. And if I decided to worry about Winning and Being the Best, I'd lose all joy in my creations because they'd go contrary to my nature. Some people were made for writing what's popular. The strength of some is the fact that they entrench themselves in one spot and build fortifications and ramparts and seize the playing field. Me? I'm a bit of a wandering soul. I like to ply my trade in many places in many times in many ways. So maybe I won't go down in legends, but I know I'll bring joy to anyone who sits by my fire to hear a merry tale.

I'm going to send The Windy Side of Care into the Five Glass Slippers Contest and from there, que sera, sera. If she doesn't like it I might just do something with it myself. Lengthen that word-count, expand the plot, give you a mind-boggling Cinderella-twist and publish it myself. Either way I'll be pleased. What about you? Are you a traveling bard or an established baron?

When Re-writes Pay Off

By the way - I did not model Smidgen off of Gavroche.
The picture just fit him. 

Rewriting is a thing I only do when I absolutely have to. I used to fear it. Now I just dislike it. I'm not talking about editing so much as I am talking about those moments when you open up one Word document file, sigh, and open a new one, needing to create something entirely different. There are several reasons why I usually wait to rewrite until the entire novel has been finished. If you're too picky on a first draft you'll find yourself bogged down in fixing problems that might straighten out by the end of the novel. But sometimes you just know that you'll go from bad to worse if you don't rewrite a scene right now. I came across this dilemma in The Baby a few chapters back; the chapter was finished and well-written and had done its duty of introducing a plot twist and a new character or two, but it just wasn't right.

Then I realized the problem: this scene intended for a children's book had no children in it--in fact, it dealt with a dilemma that most adults would find intimidating, let alone the 12-14 year olds who will be reading this book. Once I determined what the problem was, there was nothing left to do but fix it. I rolled up my proverbial sleeves and set to work. Below I have excerpts from the former version of Chapter Six, and the new version. Former is written in red, latter in blue:

     At Whiskin's Abbey in quite another corner of the valley, a young man waited in the shadow of an apple-tree.
     "Morning, John Brady," an old man said, tugging his cap in passing.

     Smidgen pushed his spine against the curve of the apple-tree outside Whiskin's Abbey and waited for John Brady. A hum like a hive of drones poured over the wall of the Abbey-school, but Smidgen knew it was no honey those boys worked for--it was lessons and more lessons. 

Not only is the second passage more interesting, it's also more intimate. In the former passage you are told there is an apple tree near  a place called Whiskin's Abbey. In the second it is spoken of as "the apple-tree outside Whiskin's Abbey..." A slight difference, but one that sets the tone and brings the reader in.

     Leona sat on a boulder--soft and white against the dark firs--and slid off as he noticed her. She came up smelling like sunlight and heather and wrapped him in her arms.

     Smidgen swung himself to the ground and led the way across a field ripe with cockleburs and over a ridge into the fir-filled copse. Leona was perched on the boulder where he'd left her, only now that she saw John Brady, that strange, worried look left her face and she smiled as she usually did.

Here, the second example is less intimate, but much more what a young reader will identify with. Smidgen is concerned for his sister, Leona, and he doesn't notice her beauty--he notices that she no longer looks worried. That, to Smidgen, is the thing that gladdens him, while John Brady would be more inclined to notice her physical appearance.

     She glowed brighter than ever and pushed a sweep of red hair from her eyes. "We are fine." As she said the words she raised her eyes, and John felt himself swayed by the intensity.
     "You and I? Yes. We are very fine." He touched the very tip of her pixie-like nose and smiled.
     Leona shook her head. "I meant something quite different."

     "We are fine."
     Something in her voice struck Smidgen as unusual, and he looked up from thrashing the grass to see a funny look on her face.
     John jerked his head with a laugh and touched her nose. "You and I? Yes. We are very fine."
      "And me," Smidgen said. He thought it advisable to remind them he existed. "I'm fine."

You can tell the difference here. Smidgen's appraisal of this conversation is much more casual and indignant. He feels the tension and he plants himself in the middle of it, which adds interest to what could be no more than a lovers' conversation which--as any third wheel knows--is not terribly interesting.

     John threw out his arms, exasperated. "Within a Community?--yes. Promises there are binding. You know this as well as I."
     Leona's head was bowed and her shoulders shook. John rolled his eyes. Oh God, no crying. Why do women--? "Leona, be a reasonable creature. What could possibly make our lives more difficult than they are now?"

     "Don't start acting like a woman, Leona," John said. Smidgen watched his obvious impatience at the first signs of Leona's tears, and wondered if John knew how rarely Leona cried. How could he? He'd never lived with her.
     Smidgen took her hands in his. "Tell me. I don't mind if you cry." 
     John rolled his eyes and elbowed between them. "Oh come now. Neither do I. Just don't...overreact. What could possibly make our lives harder than they are now?"

This is one of my favorite bits in the whole chapter, since I can imagine my young brother being just as protective of me. Smidgen likes John Brady, but he still considers himself the first man in Leona's life. Thus, when he sees John making Leona cry, he's ready to wedge himself in that little crack and be the one to comfort the lady. There are two dynamics here that weren't there in the first version of the chapter, since Smidgen never comes to the valley: a brother-sister, long-standing relationship that John and Leona can't possibly have, and a sense of triumph; Smidgen has scored a point over John. Something he's probably been waiting to do for some time.

So.

Can you see how rewriting pays off? Smidgen is now a much larger character and that has sprung me into new plot depths I hadn't expected. All because I took a morning to restructure a chapter that wouldn't have fit in a children's novel. It's definitely worth a thought. You never quite know what might happen if you take out your scalpel and start probing!

How To Survive Rewriting: the good, the bad, and the ugly

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. In short, it was time to rewrite Fly Away Home.

After having sent the book to numerous beta-readers, the critiques started swinging back in and for the past several days I've been swamped with so much rewriting it nearly made me question my calling as a writer. (I jest, I jest....partly.) At first it was an overwhelming jungle of horrid mistakes, plotting, and things to correct. I stared at the sheets of closely-written notes from my grandmother, and at the lengthy emails from my long-suffering friends, and thought, "What the blazes have I got myself into?"

There is always this moment on the edge of editing and rewriting, and the question is, "What will you do with it?" Only the brave and true survive the process. Only the dedicated have the guts to go through with it.

With all humbleness, I am one of them.

I know that rewriting is only going to make my book better. It's daunting, terrifying, and wretched at times, yes. But there is also a sense of exhilaration. If you are one who is looking down on your work in progress and wondering how you'll ever make a sensible book out of the hash in your hands, you are at the right place. In this post I intend to make you laugh, make you groan, and show you a little of how I go about it. Ready?

All right.

After assembling my thoughts and girding myself with bravado I didn't feel, (and a deal of prayer I did feel) yesterday was the official re-write kick-off. Witness my Facebook postings throughout the day:

January 10, 12:13 p.m. :

That feeling of utter confusion, bewilderment, and terror when you realize "editing" is more like "rewriting" and you gulp, close your eyes, and plunge in the knife.

January 10, 12:19 p.m.:

The general consensus is that I need some yelling in my book. *feels shell-shocked, realizing she must now spend the day getting her characters into several arguments in several places*

January 10, 11:54 p.m.:

Because there are days when you can't escape editing, and a purple pen lessens the terror. A smidge.

So my first suggestion? Use a purple pen. Never use red. Red is the color of blood. Red is the color of guilt. Use anything but red, I beg you.

The first official step in Rewriting is to identify which pieces need a complete overhaul.

In my case there were two key scenes that several beta-readers had commented on. I knew I needed to completely redo these scenes, adding material, cutting material, changing characters, etc. This was extremely daunting and I hardly had the courage to start cutting in. But I knew it needed to be done. When have a head-to-head with a thing that screams "DEATH! DESTRUCTION! RUIN! CHAOS!" the best thing to do is ignore the fact that it's enormous. I went in with a scalpel rather than a broadsword, and began to make my correction little by little. Don't look at the big picture in these overwhelming moments. Go line upon line, precept upon precept (to hackney a phrase) and you'll soon find the thing is done. Rather than editing the original file though, I copied and pasted the sections into a separate document which immediately tamed the tigers.

Working in separate files gives you mental freedom to make changes, knowing you can always revert to the original if you must. Both of my sections were large and unwieldy and it took me all day, but I rewrote 7 or 8k words yesterday. I was so pleased with the outcome, I made the decision to edit the original file and ditch the old material.

It was a wonderful feeling. ^.^

After fixing those two beasts, the next step was to try my hand at the Post-it Note System. This is my version of a system introduced to me by author Stephanie Morrill. I had wanted to try it ever since seeing her example on Go Teen Writers, and today was my chance. I woke up bright and early, knowing that I wanted to get my Wall of Power made before breakfast so I could focus on editing the rest of the day.

I wish my camera had captured the grandeur of the sunrise. It was so brilliant.

Sarah is out of town which has been great for my rewriting schedule because I can work at odd hours and not disturb anyone! After waking myself up with a shower, I sat and wrote a sticky note for each scene in my book. I was well-fortified with brightly colored Post-it notes, my purple pen, and my JJ Heller Pandora station.

Oh yes. And chocolate. Please don't forget the chocolate.

 Stephanie's system was a combo of index cards and sticky notes, but I went with only Post-it notes and created my own method that is working absolutely amazingly for me.

 Each color means something different:

Pink: Average scenes
Green: Key "turning-point" scenes
Blue: Possible scrap-scenes
White: Suggestions
Yellow: General comments

I ended up with 70-some "scenes" and it pleased my organized side to see that they squared up with precision when I stuck them to the wall. I was also pleased to find that--not including the two major rewrite-scenes yesterday--I had only a of couple scenes to consider cutting. (This will be my third edit on this book, so I got rid of, or rearranged several scenes in the former rounds) All the same, I reconsidered several scenes and replaced their sticky-notes with ones of a different shade where needed. After that I took out my white pieces and made lots of suggestions for various scenes such as...

Haha.

These suggestions are so helpful when you need a quick glance to remind you of what needed fixing in the given scene. Heighten tension? Add an argument? Mention this event? Incorporate a certain character? I was proud that I remembered to number the individual Post-its so that if they fell off the wall I could get them back in order without driving myself crazy.

I had fun with the cryptic descriptions of certain scenes....no one but myself need know what some of them mean...

;)

Here is the wall after rearranging and adding notes:

The awesome thing about this system is that you can literally see the flow of your story. If my key scenes are the green ones, I can see where I need to check tension in the lesser scenes, where I might need to relieve it in the intense blocks, etc. Since you're dealing with Post-it notes, you also have the freedom to play around with rearranging the various scenes. The yellow Post-its, again, are general things to remember throughout each scene and all the way through to the end. 

Another perk of the Wall of Power is that it allows you to easily identify, add, and follow "circularity"--a topic Jill Williamson touched on over at Go Teen Writers earlier this week.

Me standing against the Wall of Power. 

Or the Wall of Terror. 

Both were appropriate depending on when you caught me during the day. By lunchtime, my Facebook statuses were less than cheerful:

January 11, 12:13 p.m.

Historical accuracy makes me want to up and write fantasy. :P

-OR-

January 11, 1:19 p.m.

Waaaaaaaaa. Editing today is a Sudoku puzzle. Move one piece and the rest goes to shambles behind it.

After I came down to lunch, Mama listened to me rant about wishing there was a coffee shop that wasn't twenty-five minutes away, then calmly said, "Well, you could go anyway. It isn't that far."

I could, couldn't I? With computer in tow. 

It is a maxim of mine that a change of scenery does wonders. Therefore I toted my laptop full of its quibbles with Mr. Barnett, geography, Callie Harper, and 50's slang, and went to Panera. There, I ordered therapy in the form of a cinnamon roll and hazelnut coffee. I took a window seat and flipped open my computer. 

I heard Eric Hutchinson's "Rock Roll" and smiled.

It was a good spot for editing. 

And for taking awkward pictures with the self-shot of one's tablet.

And for embarrassing oneself by taking one's laptop from the laptop case borrowed from one's guitar-playing brother, and finding there is all a manner of horrid things springing out at you like strings and papers and pens and picks. And everyone stares at you tolerantly.

I was there an hour and a half and got nearly all the way through the list of corrections I'd copied down from my Wall of Power. YES! Along the way I was aided by a phone-call from a friend who has just been Sher-locked, and musing over just how amazing Steven Moffat is, and how he probably had to go through this self-same rewriting process for his genius. Tomorrow is Saturday, and therefore a day for cleaning house, but I expect to be right back to my Wall of Power on Monday, making corrections and giving Mr. Barnett a temper, and finding out just where in Manhattan The St. Evans' Post ought to be located, and doing all a manner of things. In fact, I'd rather not think about it. In the past two days I've taken huge leaps in the rewriting, and it's amazing to see what persistence and elbow-grease will do to a story. 

Rewriting isn't easy, and I'm not trying to make it out to be a lark, but it is helpful to have tips and tricks. I hope I've encouraged some of you with a peep at my system, and I assure you it helps. Just get down and get your hands dirty, and it'll all come right in the end. 

We hope. ;)

A mood like peppermints

November is long famous for being a month of serious writing for men and women and boys and girls all across the nation. The month you buckle down, force yourself to pour out a book, and get cracking on the project you've procrastinated on for so long. For me, November has been full of writing. But not the sort you'd think. I haven't written a stitch of Au Contraire. That project is on hold, actually. No, do not fly off the handle. I simply realized that it would not be right to devote all my energies to a new project when I hadn't edited/rewritten my last two books. Therefore I've pulled out all the stops and have been editing, polishing, and taking-a-breath-before-rewriting The Scarlet-Gypsy Song and Fly Away Home. Both of these books have more potential than A Mother for the Seasonings, and though I haven't quite given up on the former, I honestly think either or both of the others will find a home sooner. Therefore it makes sense to focus on editing them and preparing these two very different stories to try their wings.

To be quite honest, it's nerve-wracking. Not only do I have to prepare these two stories physically, I also have to do my research on comp. titles, marketing, agents, and proposals for each. It's like finding I'm suddenly the mother of triplets and they're wailing to be fed at once. Like parenting, I can see I'm in that stage where they'll keep me up at night and I'll get very little sleep. Unlike parenting, I hope my "children" won't contract some strange childhood disease along the way. And they certainly won't cut teeth. At least, let's hope not. Being bitten by a story? That seems a tad twisted. All this to say, I thought I'd share with you a little of how I go about rewriting/editing. 

First off, I indulge my vanity and read through my favorite parts of the story. If I see a glaring problem, I fix it, but this stage is the feel-good stage of the process. I let myself enjoy having finished the book, and I immerse myself in the world of Scarlettania or 1950's NYC.

Then I read through the entire book again. Very. Very. Slowwwwwwwllllyyyyy. I often whisper aloud the words as I read them, making sure they taste right on the tongue. There are some sentences that look fine on paper but sound strange when you read them aloud. I don't like awkward writing like that, and I always make sure to change it when I can. I keep a weather eye out for POV slips. I ask myself questions:

Is this dialog going anywhere?

Whose head are we in here?

Would he have reacted that way?

Would a girl in the 1950's have used that word?

I keep an eye out for odd endings to sentences. In the case of historical fiction, I make myself like an artist dabbing on finishing touches of paint to his masterpiece. I sprinkle a liberal supply of historical tid-bits into the story. Phrases. Jokes. Places. Pop culture references--one of my favorite parts of polishing up the historical novel. I try to go through Round One pretty quickly. If I move through at a nice trot I'll be able to catch pacing mistakes easier. Also, I'll be reading it at the pace most readers would. I'm not nit-picking. I'm getting the general flavor of the story and fixing the obvious flaws.

After I've done a good, brisk run-through I coerce certain friends of mine into reading the book as it is and suggesting changes, critiquing the changes I've made, and generally running the manuscript through a wringer. We aren't running it through a sieve yet, but we're definitely serious now. Sometimes the friends suggest drastic changes that would require massive amounts of rewriting... (gulp) but I take their criticism into consideration and even lean toward applying it. After I've reviewed all the criticism and thought through the options and the cause-and-effect of making the changes, it's time to start Round Two.

I read through the book again, mentally marking weak spots. Scenes that seemed to promise a revival later on the plot and are never referenced again. There are decisions to make. Am I going to keep the scene and tie it in, or delete the scene and replace it with something else? What themes are running through the book? Are they strong throughout? Why did I drop the magazine subject half-way through the plot? That's stupid. Round Two is the Humiliation Stage. The moment I begin to think my writing stinks and I'll never make it to publication. I'm over it. The plot. The characters. (Except for Mr. Barnett. He's a dear and I'd marry him myself if possible.) But I press on. Through the swirling dusk of my brain, I know it's worth it. I straggle through to the end and turn round, breathless and panting, my cravat askew. Often my mood will have gone south. I then write little scribblings of how I'm feeling and laugh over them with a wry smile:

She was in a mood like peppermints. A cold mood. A tingly mood. And she sucked it to herself, wishing she was labeled "curiously strong mint" for good measure to ward off anyone of a weak constitution.

After I've cleaned my sword from battle in Round Two, it's time to move on to Round Three. Round Three for me entails a lot of general clean up. Smoothing of scene transitions. Touching up here and there of dialog. Lengthening internal dialog. Adding an observation or two through that conversation. Checking facts for the third or fourth time. Adding or lengthening description where the setting is a bit obscure. Renaming this character. Referencing that earlier chapter. Round Three is a peaceful haven compared to that horrid but priceless Round Two.

Round Four is generally all I need. All major things have been mopped up. Ideally I've got more people to read my story and a bit more criticism. I compare these new reactions to the reactions of the first round. Apply changes as needed. Spit-shine the last bit. It is finished.

Now a brief respite and the treat an afternoon of reading without bringing out my laptop once. I know I'll soon have to start work on the querying process, but for now I've done well. This is the lull before the storm, and I enjoy it while I can. Often my mood will be that of a martyr's. I feel quiet, avenged, content. I sit back and enjoy the brief sense of victory. Told you it was worth it.

I'm Rewriting....and I Love it!"

I am rewriting....and I love it!

Wait. Did I just say those two things in the same statement? Um...yes I did. And to further clarify, I'll say it again.

I am rewriting, and I love it! :P

You see, my lovely critique group partners took my story, beat it around a little, and showed me how to take what I had thought was a pretty polished story, and make it shine.
And sometimes to make something shine, you have to rub in really, really hard! :P
Such was my experience, and now that the dear critiquers are done critiquing it, it is my turn to take all the feedback, all the gentle, or frank tips, and whip this story into shape.
And I love it! I am able to see so much more clearly now just how far The Seasonings was from being done! And I am finding it is so much fun and so fulfilling to go back through the story and rewrite it, adding wittier dialog, beautiful descriptions, and anything I can lay my hands on to turn into a shining addition to my story!
So this comes with a piece of advise to other aspiring authors an authoresses:
When you think your story is done, I would really caution you to find a critique group, (mine is an online group) or a few writing friends who will give honest opinions, and take a second, third, and even fourth look at your book.
My critique group has been invaluable in showing me problems I hadn't even known existed. It's like having a dozen pairs of eyes to see my story from all angles.
Which has led me to being a better author myself. Which is why I can say in all honesty, "I'm rewriting, and I love it!" :)

Where Art Thou Cooperation?

I am in a spot where I am feeling just like Leanna when she quotes, "My compositions are like your paintings: Mediocre copies of another writer's genius!" I am really understanding today that I am NOT a Dickens, Austen, Twain, Alcott, etc. I am an aspiring author and nothing more. I made the grand and glorious mistake of reading Northanger Abbey right before taking out my little endeavor. Bad idea. Northanger Abbey drips with wit and vivacity, and my poor little story looked like milk-toast beside it! :( It may sound funny, but my characters and story are missbehaving. They won't be written the way I want them to. I know exactly how I want my story to come out, but it won't obey!!! It is most irritating, because I know for a fact that I have control over my pen! (of course!!!) Nevertheless, if my story was a child, I need Supernanny! :) The characters won't do as they should, the story won't be smoothly laid down on paper, and I have a most terrible crop of "subject, verb, subject, verb....blah, blah, blah". I have half a mind to stuff my poor manuscript under my bed to dry-rot. But I won't really. This is a temporary problem, and one that shall disappear if I proceed and make it behave! :) I always like to write through one of these fits, and sometimes by the end I have actually written something worth reading, that may have been missed otherwise. One of my worst writing moments came when I was writing the most emotional chapter in my whole book: Someone erased it accidently on the computer!!! Terrible! So I rewrote it, and something happened to that! And I rewrote it again and something happened to that! I ended up reliving and rewriting that scene 3 or 4 times! I was emotionally drained by the end! ;) That was hard work. Each time I wondered if I had really captured the emotion of the first time, but I think I did okay! Thanks everyone for your ideas for my writing-club story! I haven't decided what I am finally going to write about, but I'll let you all know! Keep the ideas coming! -Rachel (Who is not feeling like Josie Ava Inkpen today! :)