Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Guest Author Alex Hughes: How to Revise a Novel
I'd like to welcome fellow Georgia gal and science fiction author Alex Hughes to the blog today to chat with us about revisions. I just finished up some of my own, and I can say she's right on with her suggestions. I especially liked #3. That's a new one for me. Her debut novel, Clean, releases this week, and I got to hear her read an excerpt from it a few months ago. It's worth checking out.
Alex was born in Savannah, GA and moved to the south Atlanta area when she was eight years old. Shortly thereafter, her grandfather handed her a copy of Anne McCaffrey’s Dragonrider series, and a lifelong obsession with sci-fi was born.
She's a graduate of the prestigious Odyssey Writing Workshop and a Semi-Finalist in the 2011 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Her short pieces are published in several markets including EveryDay Fiction and White Cat Magazine. She blogs about writing craft, revision, and editing at SmallTriumphs.com.
Alex loves swing dancing, tetris, music of all kinds, and has been known to get into long conversations with total strangers at restaurants about the Food Network, much to the embarrassment of her sister. She can also balance a spoon on her nose while crossing her eyes, and talk for hours about absolutely nothing.
Take it away Alex...
“It is perfectly okay to write garbage--as long as you edit [revise] brilliantly.”
― C.J. Cherryh
The number one most important thing I’ve learned in my time as a writer is how to revise a story. And yet it’s not something I ever see taught in college writing classes. Even books on the subject can be hard to find–which is odd. Maybe revision just isn’t sexy. I can say it’s a lot of work. But revision is the best, strongest, most useful tool in your arsenal, and is more than worth whatever time it takes to get it right.
Here’s a quick guide to what I’ve learned about revision in the last few years.
1. Big picture first, small stuff later.
A lot of beginning writers start revising with the first sentence and sweat over every word. A lot of times, all this gets you is wasted effort. Even assuming you get the sentence and the paragraph perfect–what if you need to rewrite the scene? Then all your hard work is for nothing. Instead, it makes more sense to start with the big-picture ideas: character, plot, world building, and theme–and fine-tune those first. Is your world coming across as fully as you want? When you read this character in the story, does he/she seem as funny/happy/diabolical as you intended? Does the plot or subplot seem complete, twisty and interesting? Does the theme resonate?
Then, go through every scene and every chapter and look at issues on that level. Is this character funny enough in this scene? Do I miss the subplot here? Does the chapter seem to contradict my theme? Is this necessary? Is something missing? Only then should you work on the sentence-level details.
Bonus idea: Often people hate revision because it seems like an overwhelmingly large, single task. But it’s not something you have to do all at once. Try doing your revision as an iterative process, where every time you go through you fix one problem. You can make many passes to get to your goal (no one is counting), and having one problem to fix every time is manageable and focusing.
2. Cut out the fat–even if it hurts.
Everything in the story needs to have a purpose and add something to the whole. If not, cut it. Save it to another document in your computer if you want, then re-read the story without it. Is the story stronger? Does it make more sense without that bit? If so, leave the bit out, even if you love it. (If you really love it, give the bit its own story later.) But if the story isn’t stronger or doesn’t make more sense, weave the bit back in–and see if you can make it play into your theme or ending. This idea applies as much to characters and subplots as it does to paragraphs and scenes–nothing on the page is sacred. If it doesn’t add, take it out. Period.
Bonus idea: Once you’re through the big-picture stuff, look for freeloader words like that, very, quite, such, maybe, a little, and all uses of long verb phrases when short ones will do. Also, whenever possible, substitute strong, specific nouns and verbs in place of weaker adjectives and adverbs. What do I mean? Compare “I was walking very indirectly towards the store” to the much stronger “I ambled to the deli.” Fewer words with more meaning.
3. Add cool stuff–your stuff.
Once you’ve cut the fat, go back through and ask yourself if there’s anything missing, or any details you could add to make the story more particular and original to you. For example, a friend of mine works on a chicken farm. And I’m obsessed with neuroscience and the brain and read about them whenever I can. You know cool things like that too, things not many people know, whether you’ve learned them by experience or through reading. Figure out what those things are. Then use them!
Add the right details–the you details–to fit the story in front of you. Make the details as specific and vivid as possible. You can also pull from things you run across in the real world–for example, I read an article about an experiment they did with cooling something with a magnetic field, and added that to a book as a magnetic air conditioner. If you can add the right kinds of specific details–the things that you know and that interest you–the details will make your story feel interesting and original. It will make the story yours.
4. Get beta readers. Listen to them.
The truth is, in writing, the only thing that counts is what’s on the page. The trouble is, you and I often don’t know what’s on the page. We know what we intended to put on the page. The most brilliant monologues, the greatest action scenes in the world, that movie you had in your head–none of that matters if you didn’t manage to communicate it to the reader. This is a sad but true fact.
This is why we also need readers. Other writers are great, particularly in early stages of a project, but eventually you need readers. Ordinary people who love books. Get several of these to read your book and then talk about it. Ask them specific questions. When you don’t understand what they mean, you ask, “can you say that a different way please?” When they hate your precious story and you want to throw knives at them, smile instead and ask, “why do you say that?” Then take notes.
You can learn something from every reader, if you bother to listen, something that will make your story stronger. You don’t have to make the changes they ask for (unless you want to) but you do have to pay attention to where your ideas are not getting on the page. Getting good readers will teach you very quickly what is and what isn’t communicating–and what you need to fix.
Bonus idea: Volunteer as a beta reader for other people’s projects, especially those in the early stages. Helping them identify the flaws in their stories–and helping them figure out how to fix them–will teach you a lot about writing and how to fix your own stories. This is the fastest and best way to learn how to revise.
These are some initial ideas, but, as the classic saying goes, “writing is rewriting.” Learning how to revise is a life-long process just like writing, and just like writing, it takes practice–and commitment–to get right.
A RUTHLESS KILLER—
OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND
I used to work for the Telepath’s Guild before they kicked me out for a drug habit that wasn’t entirely my fault. Now I work for the cops, helping Homicide Detective Isabella Cherabino put killers behind bars.
My ability to get inside the twisted minds of suspects makes me the best interrogator in the department. But the normals keep me on a short leash. When the Tech Wars ripped the world apart, the Guild stepped up to save it. But they had to get scary to do it—real scary.
Now the cops don’t trust the telepaths, the Guild doesn’t trust me, a serial killer is stalking the city—and I’m aching for a fix. But I need to solve this case. Fast. I’ve just had a vision of the future: I’m the next to die.