I am grateful for every day of these last three and a half years. Now she’s out of the San Francisco fog and basking in an eternal slat of late afternoon sunlight.
I am grateful for every day of these last three and a half years. Now she’s out of the San Francisco fog and basking in an eternal slat of late afternoon sunlight.
Here are some very simple benchmarks for when to cut something out of your manuscript. If you are agonizing over revisions and trying to decide whether to keep a paragraph, scene, phrase, character, line of dialogue, etc., run it through this checklist.
(Hint: if people are telling you that your pacing is slowing down or if a scene is running long and boring to re-read during revisions… Pay attention!)
You should probably cut it from your manuscript if:
This is a very reductive view of revision. But honestly? I’ve been reading some manuscripts this week where I’ve wondered long and hard: Why is this in here? Whether it’s been a particular bon mot that the writer couldn’t cut (KILL YOUR BABIES!) or a scene where the same wrinkle in a friendship dynamic is replayed over and over (“I just need to know I can trust you, man!”/”You can trust me, broseph!” for like five scenes straight…), I have developed a wicked itchy delete button finger.
And what happens after you trim all the unnecessary fat from your manuscript?
You’ve freed up some room in your word count and it gives you anxiety?
Go forth and fill it with important, varied, nuanced and truthful stuff! Because if what you’re writing isn’t any of that–if it is just taking up space in your manuscript–then those are dead words anyway. It’s better if you cut them when you see them, as they’re placeholders for something more awesome.
Trust me. Now go: chop, chop, chop.
At some point in every aspiring writer’s life, they will ask themselves: should I invest in a conference? That’s how you should phrase it, anyway. It is an investment: of time, of money. A lot of people report feeling more committed and professional after an event.
Here is an easy list of pros and cons of conferences, in case you’re on the fence about going to your first or going again. Use this list to keep your expectations in check (very important).
Cons: Why You Might Not Want to Go To A Conference
Now for the good news! There are tons of reasons to go to a writers conference.
Pros: Why You Should Go To A Conference
So there you go! Literally! Go, if you feel compelled to.
For kidlit writers, I highly recommend making it out to a national SCBWI conference at least once. More info here: SCBWI. I prefer the summer one in LA over the NYC winter conference, though maybe I’m biased because the shorter flight has lured me. Seriously, though, it is the longer-running one and, puzzlingly, seems to attract more New York agents and editors. If you can’t make it to one of the national conferences, do go to your regional SCBWI chapter’s events. Some excellent chapters throw amazing conferences, like the Nevada SCBWI chapter run by Ellen Hopkins. Why I like SCBWI events: all the people you meet are into kid’s books. Every single one of them. So you’re not sitting next to a cozy mystery/romance thriller writer at lunch.
With most other conferences, you have to watch the list of participants and speakers like a hawk. Seriously. Do your research. Google everybody. Figure out where in publishing they are. The last thing you want to do is spend all that time and money and show up at a conference populated by non-fiction or adult fiction agents and editors. Make sure at least a handful of children’s book professionals will be there. The benefit of zeroing in on the kidlit people at an adult conference, though, is that you’ll likely have more face time with them as one of the few children’s writers in attendance.
So no matter which conference you choose, take this list to heart and take the plunge. It’s worth it at least once in every writer’s life.
And, of course, I’d be totally remiss if I didn’t point you all to the Big Sur Fiction Writing Workshop, put on by the Andrea Brown agency, that’s coming up December 3rd through the 5th! It’s an amazing weekend of small groups, in-depth workshops, close attention from faculty and, of course, lots of chances to network and meet writers, agents and editors. Click here for the website!
So I hear you’re considering sending a revision to a literary agent while they’re still considering your work. Should you be in this situation? No. Because ideally, you would’ve queried only your strongest work. Because Mary told you to send query only your strongest work. But you didn’t believe me or didn’t know any better and then you decided to revise and here we are. It’ll be okay.
This is a question writers ask a lot. Here’s the situation: you polish a manuscript draft (so you think) and then you send it out to agents. Then, since publishing is notoriously slow, you sit around and have some time to think about what you’ve done. And think. And think. You realize things about your manuscript that you should’ve done differently. You begin to revise and realize there’s a LOT you could’ve done differently.
Now you can’t even begin to fathom how awful your last draft is and you can’t believe that it is sitting in Dream Agent’s inbox in that deplorable, horrid, unfinished condition. An anxiety flares up and makes your pinkie toes tingle. You have to send them the new version. You have to. Right. Now.
But there are lots of questions involved. Will the agent take it? Will it make you look bad? Will even asking guarantee a speedy rejection?
Here’s the thing, and I can’t say it enough: there are only a finite number of agents in the world (or, only a finite number worth working with… The point, remember, is to get a good agent, not just any agent…). You’ve spent all this time writing a book and you can only show it to those agents once, unless they ask to see a revision down the line. Why wouldn’t you take the absolute maximum time you can to make sure this book is polished and perfect?
Because you’re human and you’re impatient and you want to get feedback from publishing professionals on it now now now. It’s okay. I understand this urge. I’ve sent out manuscripts to agents only to do a huge revision. I’ve sent that dreaded “Actually, can you look at this instead?” e-mail.
So if you find yourself in this situation — having rushed out a manuscript that wasn’t ready — you are in the same boat as many, many other writers. It happens. Agents know it happens. So when you e-mail us and ask to submit another draft, it is likely we’ll say “Sure, send it in,” unless we’re already reading your manuscript. If we are, we still might still say “Sure, send it in,” but only if we like what we’re reading so far. Or we might reject you, because some agents have no tolerance for this. At this point, it’s up to you whether you want the risk.
The fact that writers pull the trigger too early is no secret in agenting circles. Besides, there are precious few debut manuscripts (if any) that go out on submission to editors without some revision. Whether you do that revision for an agent before or after signing their contract, you will do some revision. So, agents know that a manuscript is a malleable thing.
It doesn’t exactly impress us that you submit a manuscript and have a brand new draft the next week, but it happens. Just make sure the second draft you submit is really, really, really good. Otherwise, you will lose points in the competence and professionalism departments. I repeat: if you plan on re-submitting something, take your time, for the sake of all that is holy. Don’t just rush through this draft, too! Someone once said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results…
I will say it once, I will say it a thousand times: patience is a virtue, my dears. You’ve got a list of agents. You’ve got a manuscript that represents your tears, blood and late-night tiramisu binges. That stack of words and paper better be your damn best piece of work before ever the twain shall meet. Dig?
Are you revising and revising only to figure out that you don’t know what you’re doing? It’s okay. Make your next revision your best revision yet with me as your manuscript editor. I’ll give you feedback to not only inform your next revision, but your entire approach to fiction writing.
The short answer: slowly.
I’ve been there. Believe me. You get a request. Or you decide that a certain publishing house is PERFECT for your book. OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG… you have to send it there right now because it should’ve already been there three weeks ago with how anxious you’re feeling so you run out to the post office and you shout “Overnight it!” and then you whip out your debit card and and and…
Let me repeat: I’ve been there. This sort of excitement — a request from an agent, an editor you meet and adore at a conference — can inspire some reckless, I’m-in-love spending.
But what you should really be spending is the time to perfect your manuscript. Publishing is notoriously slow. Unless the agent or editor says, explicitly, “Get this to me ASAP” and for some reason you can’t e-mail it to them, don’t waste your money Overnighting, Expressing or Prioritizing anything.
Here at the publisher where I work, we sometimes get unsolicited submissions overnighted to us. How much did it cost to send those five pages? I don’t want to know. If you are sending in a regular submission to an agent or editor, this is what will happen to it: it will arrive, it will be sorted by the mailroom, it will sit in a bin, it will sit in a bin some more, an intern will glance at it, it might sit in a bin again, someone might recommend it to an editor, it will sit on the editor’s desk, the editor might glance at it, it will sit on the desk some more… It is a sloooow process.
I repeat: the only time you should make haste sending anything is a) when your project is absolutely ready for consumption and b) when the agent or editor explicitly requests that the thing is sent to them in an expedited fashion.
Otherwise, good old first class cheap-o mail is fine. It is encouraged, even. There are few things sadder than watching an Overnight package languish in slush for a month. Don’t be That Writer.
You’ve got a fire under your butt and you’re excited. Good. Express that fire by writing, revising or otherwise improving your craft. Don’t let it rocket-boost you to the post office. There are much better ways to channel all that energy.
For today, I’ve got a question from a reader! Take a look at what L.S. wanted to know:
I’ve been writing for a few years (I’m 17) and I know I want to be an author. It’s all I want to do but I know my writing needs work – a lot of work. I’ve heard from some people that the only way to improve your writing is to practice, just keep writing and reading. Is that true, or is it different for everyone? And is it wrong to pursue this as a career?
It seems like the most common advice is to do something else, “write in your free time”. I originally decided that if I made it to college, I’d major in Creative Writing. I thought that would help me become a better writer, but I’m worried now that it would be a waste of time.
There isn’t a single writer in the world who hasn’t doubted whether writing is the path for them. These questions are definitely normal. The first thing I have to say is that you’ve got plenty of time on your hands. A lot of writers discover their passion for it early. This is the part you might not want to hear, though: a lot of writers start early but then spend years and years and years honing their skills. To answer your question, yes, practice and reading are the best ways to improve as a writer. That’s not just for some people, that’s for everybody. The more you write, the better you get, and the more you read, the more you absorb for your own craft.
Even though you’re thinking of majoring in creative writing, don’t think you’ll get out of college with that degree and begin a career writing books right away. The truth of the matter is, you’ll learn a lot more from years and years of practice than you ever will in creative writing classes. Those classes were nice but did little to prepare me for writing a book and getting into the publishing world. Heck, my MFA in creative writing was only marginally better than college in terms of craft and literature curriculum. Luckily, nobody cares about your degrees or your resume when you’re a writer. They only care about the work, as should you. That’s your responsibility to hone, so don’t feel like you need to put so much pressure on your degree.
Being an author isn’t an easy career to get into. Most people don’t realize how long it takes to start writing good, saleable books. Most people have no idea how slowly the publishing world moves. I talk to writers all the time who say it took them ten years of solid writing to finally get a manuscript that sold. But if that’s the only thing you can possibly imagine doing, if writing is an irresistible, compulsive thing for you, then pursue it. Most people try and then drop out. This is a field where tenacity is pretty much a requirement.
The thing you really need to explore right now is your voice. For young writers, the voice is usually the last thing to develop and solidify. It’s true. To carry any kind of book for 300 pages, a writer needs a mature, dynamic and compelling voice. A voice that feels like a real human being, not just some caricature or persona. If there’s any advice I’d give you, it’s to educate yourself, put in grueling writing time every day and to work tirelessly on your voice. That and don’t give up just because it’s hard. The most worth-it things are always difficult.
Dialogue tags are like clauses. If the actual line of dialogue is the meat of the sentence, these little guys hang somewhere around or within it and add information. But there are dialogue tags, and there are excellent dialogue tags. You want the latter, obviously.
When I’m reading manuscripts, I always note some dialogue tag issues. Here are some of the most common, so you can play along at home and edit them out of your revision.
This is a big issue, as anything redundant in your manuscript sticks out like a big old zit in a prom photo. Go back through your manuscript and see if you’re saying anything twice in a single line… once in your dialogue, another time in your tag. Hint: this is where most of your ickiest adverbs will be. Examples:
“I’m so angry, I could spit!” she growled, nearly snorting fire from her flared nostrils.
Alex’s hands flew to blot at his crimson cheeks. “I am so embarrassed!”
“Oh yeah? What’s it to you?” she said, testily.
These are technically not bad writing. But they are redundant. In the examples above, the action or adverb basically echo what is conveyed in dialogue. If we separated those tags from the dialogue and used either the description or the dialogue alone, we would still convey the same emotions. Be careful not to repeat yourself (like I just did).
Writing a novel sometimes feels like doing blocking for a play or directing actors in a movie. You have these characters in your head and they’re moving around the place you’ve imagined for them. In real life, we take pauses in our speech, we fiddle with our keys, we put a tea saucer down then pick it back up again (if we’re classy enough to drink it out of fine china).
You want to make sure your reader gets what these characters are physically doing in space, right? You want them to see your characters like they see actors in a movie. Sure, but when you do it too much, it really drags your dialogue down. Here’s an example of one short, continuous snippet that starts to read like choreography (sorry, indentation and blogging do not go together):
“I don’t know, I mean, he’s got to come out of there sometime,” Suzie said, ripping a bite out of her turkey sandwich with her perfectly white teeth.
“I gueff,” Chris said, his mouth full of burrito. He swallowed it down. “I guess.”
Suzie chased her bite with a sip of Diet Coke from her dewy wax cup. “It’s the third time this week Biff’s shoved him in that locker.”
Chris reached into his pocket and checked the time on his phone. “It’s been about an hour already.”
Suzie arched an eyebrow. “What if he runs out of air?”
“Impossible, there are at least a dozen vents.” Chris put his phone away and folded his hands in his lap.
Suzie pushed her chair away from the table, leaving her sandwich nearly whole on its red checkered wrapper. “But you know he has asthma!”
What’s going on in this scene? What are the characters saying? Do we even really care? I don’t. I couldn’t keep track of the dialogue because there was so much business in between. The only actions we really needed, I suppose, are Chris taking out his phone to check the time and Suzie pushing herself away from the table. The rest could be trimmed back significantly.
This one needs no introduction or explanation. For the last time, folks, let’s lay it all out there: adverbs are like corn dogs. You think they’re a really good idea, then you eat a couple and you realize they’re much better in moderation. Don’t cut all adverbs out of your manuscript, but prune… aggressively. They don’t add much — only in special circumstances do they work — and they are usually a sign of a writer not trusting their reader.
Dialogue conveys things. That’s the whole point of it. It tells us who a character is, how they talk, what they think, what they say aloud vs. what they keep inside, what people are planning to do, what people did, how people feel about things, etc. etc. etc. Good dialogue is very information-dense without hitting you over the head. If it is well-written, the reader learns new things without even realizing.
Adverbs and the other kinds of tagging errors I’ve discussed here just get in the way of good dialogue and make it too… obvious. That’s not what you should be aiming for. If you’re seeing a lot of adverbs, it’s time to really examine your dialogue and make sure you’re conveying what you need to in the actual scene and not leaning on adverbs as a crutch.
Some things to remember about writing good dialogue:
“Now take this to heart and prosper!” she said, triumphantly, her fingers clacking on the keys of her MacBook as she wished her readers well. (Ba-dum bum ching! See what I did there?)
Hire me for fiction editing. I will comment on all facets of your manuscript, including, yes, those pesky dialogue tags!
I mean it. Mad. Ness.
Okay, so I have some pictures that I’ll put up here after I get home and I have tons of ideas for posts. However, I would just like to take this opportunity to summarize BEA 2009. Here are the essential stats:
Authors met: 27
ARC’s received: 21
Hopeless geeky crushes on other book nerds: 2*
Editors met: 11
Red Bulls imbibed: 3 (We all know I’d be lying if I didn’t put down at least “5”)
Bars attended with writers and friends: 5
Official publishing parties attended: 2
24-hour diners eggs-benedict-ed in: 1
And now for the most shocking (to me) numbers of all: sleep stats. I arrived on Thursday at 6 p.m. and am leaving Sunday at 11 a.m.
Total hours in NYC: 64
Total hours slept on Thursday night: 4.5
Total hours slept on Friday night: 4
Total hours slept on Saturday night: 0
Total hours slept: 8.5
No sleep ’til… Book Expo! I can’t imagine this sheer amount of mind-blowing awesomeness will repeat itself but I’ve made up my mind regardless: I am adding BEA to my annual schedule. Like whoa. Heart, soul, mind all agree: this was one of the best, most interesting, most intense and most amazing weekends ever.
* I’ll never tell. Muah hahahaha.
by Suzanne LaFleur
Middle Grade, 272 pages.
Wendy Lamb Books (2009)
At the beginning of LOVE, AUBREY, we don’t know what kind of tragedy has rocked Aubrey’s world, we just know she’s utterly alone. As we watch her buy herself a beta fish and putter around her empty house, it emerges that her father and sister died in a car accident and her mother fled from the grief of losing them and the guilt of being behind the wheel. Grandma comes to pick up the pieces and moves Aubrey to Vermont. The two women, young and old, united by tragedy, try to put the pieces of their lives back together while searching for Aubrey’s mother.
Once they find her, it becomes clear that her pain is too raw and she simply isn’t ready to be a mother yet. Aubrey must begin the slow and complicated process of making friends, grappling with her memories and reimagining what home and family mean in this new life of hers.
If only most adults had the strength and grace of this eleven year-old character. Aubrey is so hurt — on many more levels than she’ll ever admit, even to the reader, who knows most of her secret heart — but her wisdom shines brilliantly from these pages. Through writing letters, first to her beta fish, then to her dead sister’s imaginary friend, then to her dad and finally to her mother, she expresses just how strong she’s become, how strong, in fact, she’s always been. These letters cap off chapters in the perfect balance of narrative and the character’s own self-expression.
LaFleur’s writing is a thing of beauty and simplicity. Through Aubrey’s crystal-clear voice, she expresses longing, love, pain and hope with the lightest touch. The reader is always deeply involved in Aubrey’s emotions but never told about them outright. We just know Aubrey so well from the first page that everything she does makes total, resonant, brutally honest emotional sense. When her mother doesn’t come home for Christmas, we know her rage and grief, even if we’ve never experienced her circumstances.
This is the whole point of fiction, the very essence of creating a character who lives and breathes. For such a short, quiet book, LaFleur manages not only startling character development but a fleshed-out plot. Memories, emotions, flickers of new life and tortured pangs of the old combine seamlessly as Aubrey does chores to keep her mind off her grief, goes to a new school, visits with a guidance counselor, rediscovers her relationship with her mom and finally chooses her real home, at least for now.
The tagline of the book is: “She will make you cry. She will make you smile. Aubrey will stay with you forever.” I can’t put it any better than that. In this age of high-concept paranormal adventures, barbed-wire edgy and unrealistic, cookie-cutter romance, sometimes I wonder where all the small, literary books of amazing emotional depth and power are. LOVE, AUBREY is the book I’ve been waiting for (Gayle Forman’s IF I STAY (review) and Carol Lynch Williams’ THE CHOSEN ONE (review) also come to mind). It fills me with utter joy that such a talented writer and such a passionate editor found each other and created this unassuming, completely take-your-breath-away masterpiece.
LOVE, AUBREY comes out on June 9th, 2009. If you’ve forgotten the glorious ache of feeling your entire register of human emotions, read it as soon as you can. You’ll be so glad you did. I didn’t even know how much I needed Aubrey in my life. Links: Amazon, Shop Indie Bookstores.
For Readers: This book will appeal to middle grade readers as well as, um, everyone on the planet. Buy this for the kids in your life and tell them to pass it on to siblings, parents, grandparents. I’m serious. Everybody needs to read this book and its appeal is so broad, so human, that it will charm and touch each person who comes in contact with it. Of all my recent reads, this one is most likely to stand the test of time. It is a modern classic in my head already and it hasn’t even come out! Yes, I know I’m gushing, but I’m totally allowed.
For Writers: It isn’t often that writers achieve the ultimate goal of transparency, as LaFleur does here. There are some writers, of course, who thrive on their trademark voice, who use it everywhere as an indelible stamp. LaFleur has a style, sure, but as a writer, she completely disappears into Aubrey’s voice, she spins her words without once interrupting the “fictive dream” to call attention to a flourish of writing, a clever joke, an important moment. Most writers, whether consciously or not, just can’t quite get themselves out of their own writing. Not LaFleur. What you see here is all Aubrey, all the time. Please read it. If it doesn’t change your writing, and I’m not sure it will because its lessons are very subtle and complex, it will change the way you see character and it will redefine your boundaries of how deeply into a fictional soul you can go.
I just read a new revision on a manuscript last week that really surprised me, in a very good way. This is, I have to say, my hands-down favorite thing to read: a revision I’ve already given notes on, a brand new take on a project, progress that makes the manuscript better.
In my own writing life, revision has been a hairy and elusive monster, best left in closets and various under-stair hidey holes, not fit for consumption. I never know how to approach it, how much to change, what was and wasn’t working.
This last revision I read really helped me realize something: the more drastic the revision, the better. In fact, I’m thinking of making an aptitude for drastic revision one of the requirements of becoming my client.
You read all the time about people who save sentences they’ve written to use for later…and then never, ever use them. I can see why. Every time you sit down to write, you’re working on your craft. Words happen to be a nearly endless — and endlessly malleable — resource. What you wrote last week and thought was so great might not even appeal to you this week, or work in the new context you’ve saved it for.
The revision I read was a completely new book, meaning, among other things, that the plot had changed, the characters had evolved, an entirely new sub-plot was added and every word was rewritten. The author looked at her last manuscript, took in all the notes and feedback she had, and returned to the drawing board to lay down the entire book again.
Most people will groan: “But I just wrote those 50,000 words!”
I was definitely in that camp at one point. I got obsessed with my daily word count, seeing how quickly I could reach it, how fast I could fill up a document with the required number. But that’s not the right attitude. Because most — if not all — of those words will be different by the time the manuscript is, as I like to say, “ready for prime time.”
The idea of filling up your word count to fill up your word count, of revising the same manuscript over and over without changing much, the complacency some people slip into when they know there are problems with their work but they think “an agent or editor will fix it” can only add up to writing that is not the best it can be. If it doesn’t work, fix it. If those words are bad but pad your word count, take them out anyway. If there are problems, address them. In today’s competitive market, agents and editors might dock you for flaws they would’ve accepted before because we are only taking on the most excellent projects.
I wish you all could’ve read this revision, compared side-to-side against the original manuscript. It was inspiring. That is the key, friends, to challenging yourself and striving each and every day toward your best work. And that’s what I hope we’re all doing here.
Short answer — after the long answer — to the question then. How much revision is normal? A whole lotta revision is perfectly normal, in fact, it is encouraged. Many authors routinely rewrite their entire books from scratch. And those are the authors I have deep respect for.
Too many writers just do what their critique partner or agent tells them. They do a “check list revision,” like they’re just checking issues and line edits off as they fix them. They don’t go any deeper than that. They don’t bring any of themselves into the revision, and they don’t think of their own improvements, depth, and layering to add.
Revision doesn’t translate to “quick fix.” It translates to, if you break it down, “re” (again) and “vision.” In other words, seeing the whole book again and making changes according to your new vision for the entire book.