Vision and REvision

The most important part of writing a novel is getting that initial vision in writing to begin with.  But if you intend to unleash what you’ve written on the public, you’ve got to go well beyond the first draft.  To slightly rephrase a quote attributed to Hemingway: “The first draft of anything is crap.”

Michael Crichton said it pretty well, too: “Books aren’t written, they’re rewritten.”

Here, I am going to briefly discuss my process of revising; not because I think I have any brilliant, unique spins on the conventional wisdom, but because I think writers learn from both self reflection and one another.

First, though, a confession (that’s not really a confession): Because I don’t outline or plot my novels before diving into them, my first drafts are truly prime examples of Hemingway’s wisdom: characters and locations change halfway into the narrative; loose threads dangle everywhere; inconsistencies abound… this, plus all the typical typos and issues related to grammar, style, and overall readability.

But that’s fine.

Because any first draft should emerge from its initial revision looking like a gutted carcass.  Any writer who doesn't totally mutilate his or her book during that first round with the red pen has failed to do the job right.  And to be clear: the first round is the writer’s job.  Don’t inflict the inconsistent, overwritten, underwritten, mistake-riddled, infernal suckage of a first draft on anybody, not even a trusted loved one or friend.

Anyway.  My process after I finish a first draft (which I usually handwrite) goes something like this:

Wait, then type.  I put the notebook(s) away.  I don’t (typically ignore it for weeks as some say you should, but I do step away from it… for a while.  The length of this “cooling period” depends on how attached I feel to the book, how confident I am in it, or perhaps how sick I am of it.  I simply don’t want to begin revising anything if I can’t look at it objectively.

After a significant break from the thing, I type it up.  I consider this an “unofficial” first revision, because I’ll make a few changes as I type.  Major stuff?  No, because this process is all about getting the narrative out of the notebooks and into the easily-manipulated confines of Microsoft Word as quickly as possible.  But I’ll fix the obvious issues that can be fixed with a few keystrokes. Once it’s all typed, I print it out.

And within a day or two, it’s time to…

Unleash the red pen.  I don’t hold back.  I don’t elect for alternate colors or alternate mediums.  No green colored pencil, no purple crayon.  It’s red ink, preferably gel, because I want every flaw in the novel that I can find to be noted and noted clearly, so it can be changed or removed.  This is surgery, and I want to see blood.  There will be words, lines, paragraphs, and sometimes entire passages slashed or marked for revision; there will be arrows and circles galore… notes in the margins.

At this point, I’m fixing the book, not polishing.  This isn’t about smoothing out the language; this is about errors: grammar, spelling, consistency, character, plot.

This can take a while, because it’s fundamentally the most important part of the revision.

But after I’ve turned the manuscript into a pile of gore, I sit down at the computer and…

Type in the corrections/revisions.  And when this is done, the manuscript will obviously be much different than it was before—and shorter, with all those overwritten and wordy passages excised, all those frayed plot threads reattached or cut loose.  The manuscript, at this point, is at least readable, too.  If I chose to hand the book to a trusted reader at this time, I wouldn’t be totally embarrassed to do so.

But I don’t choose to hand the book to any trusted readers at this point.

After I print out this tighter, leaner, corrected manuscript, I…

Read it aloud.  For several nights, I pace around the house with a red pen handy, manuscript in hand, reading the book aloud, from the first word to the last.  I know you’ve seen reading aloud recommended before.  And I can say, without doubt, that it works.  You will find flaws—of all kinds—that you won’t find by reading it silently off your laptop screen.  I strongly urge you to print the book and read it aloud.  If your spouse thinks you’re a little bit crazy, it’s okay.  You probably are. You’re a novelist, after all.

When I’m done reading the book aloud, marking it up as I do so (and hopefully this manuscript emerges from its date with the red pen much less bloody than the previous draft), I…

Type in these corrections and changes.  And then, finally, it’s time to…

Hand the book to a trusted reader.  I’m not a fan of sending my stuff all over the internet to strangers or near strangers who volunteer themselves as “beta” readers.  Some folks do it, but I don’t.  Writing is a labor of love.  I wouldn't mail my wife or cats to a stranger, so why my young and still vulnerable book?  Certainly, you need to have somebody you can trust who will approach your work objectively and give it the praise—and criticism—it deserves before it’s thrown to the wolves—ahem, world.  Family members can be good for this, if they know their way around the language and will be (brutally) honest with you.  Former teachers or professors can be helpful, too.

You just need honest and informed eyes on the book that aren’t your own, the eyes of folks who understand it’s not their job to say, “Oh, I love it!” or “Dude, this really sucked!” but to give meaningful, constructive feedback.  Are the characters making realistic decisions?  Are certain points too predictable or too out of the blue yonder?  How’s the pace?  Did I accurately capture the mood of the setting?

Such feedback is critical, because I want to know if the book needs another round of editing, or if it’s a few little typos away from being ready for

Publication.