Draft Length v. Publication Length, Enough or Too Much?

Way back in 1994, Professor Eric Miles Williamson told my first creative-writing class that Ernest Hemingway regularly wrote 1000-1500 pages and then summarily cut the draft in half while editing. I’ve found nothing to support that story. However, one thing is clear from Seán Hemingway’s analysis of his grandfather’s work, Hemingway did cut and he cut ruthlessly.

“Try to leave out the parts that readers tend to skip.” Elmore Leonard, writing tip #10

That may be surprising if you’ve read the old man’s work. His style is a bit terse. It’s easy to imagine him banging out those short, stabbing sentences, ra-ta-tat style like a machine gun stream of consciousness. But that’s not how writing works. 

Before going further, it’s important to define terms. What we’re talking about is the length of your draft. Not the publication length. The published work is an entirely different animal. Quite often, what’s published only vaguely resembles the original draft. Other times, what’s published looks like no editors came to work that day. 

So, how long should your draft be? What is enough, what is too much? The answer is tricky. 

Conventional wisdom, (and Writer’s Digest) states that the length is dictated by the form. A short story is typically 1500-30,000 words or 6-120 pages. A novella is 30,000 to 50,000 words, (120-200pgs). And a novel is 55K-300K words, (a whole bunch of pages). 

Of course all bets are off for non-fiction, as anyone who has ever bought a grad-school, med-school, or law-school textbook can attest to. So, we’ll stick to fiction.

As such, genre plays a part in the count. Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, is 471 pages and 170K words. That remains some-what consistent for literary novels with variances for folks like Annie Proulx and David Foster Wallace. Seriously? Nine-hundred fothermucking pages? 

Frank Herbert’s science fiction masterpiece Dune originally clocked in around 700 pages. Which was considered too long by sci-fi publishers of the day, masterpiece or not. But today that is about the average for a science-fiction epic. 

The average mystery thriller is around 300 pages. Meanwhile Robert B. Parker made a four-decade career writing lean, 200-ish-page detective novels. Donald Westlake did the same thing in crime. No one corrected either that those were novellas opposed to novels.

Recently, I ran my first completed novel (80K words, 320-odd pages) through a development editor. She provided pointed, constructive criticism of my work with detailed notes. I am nothing if not efficient and proactive so I promptly downloaded that critique and then promptly started noodling around with a short story while completely ignoring the notes on my novel. 

“A short story is like a kiss in the dark from a stranger.” -Stephen King

What I found is I kept packing more into the short story than was absolutely necessary. The protagonist’s backstory, leading into why we’re “there.” The antagonist’s story, or the resistance to the protag’s objectives. The other protag’s story, or the how to the who/what/why. But that's not the purpose of a short story.

Still I wrote. The alternative, (working on editing notes THAT I PAID MONEY FOR) was too horrifying to contemplate. Yet as I wrap up the short story, I already have ideas of what to cut in order to get to the big dance number, (kidding, as far as you know) sooner. In doing so, I learned something, too.

“The first chapter sells your book. The last chapter sells your next book.” -Mickey Spillane

When I tried to cut superfluous details as I wrote, I only end up adding them back in if not rewriting the entire paragraph or page to expand on those details. But when I write, without consideration of the word count or balancing dialogue to action or exposition to dialogue or prologue to point, I get the story finished much quicker. 

Once the story is down on the page, the entire story, I can get to the real work: editing. 

Yes, I end up cutting away a lot of the same words, but after I’ve seen them on the page. It’s easy to cut them after I have read them, after I know they are true. The antagonist’s sexual disfunction after cutting off all emotional connection to survive, (and remain sane) four years in a warzone? True. The protagonist’s inant fear of failing his family now that his father, a river of wealth to everyone, has died? True. The other antag’s goal of surviving a game that has changed like a rug pulled from under her feet? True.

Once that’s established, I can cut it from the finished product. I know what’s happening behind the curtain. All the reader needs to see is the spectacle on stage.

Back in 1964, Herbert ran Dune through over 30 publishers. When Chilton picked it up, they said he had to cut the book down to less than 450 pages. So, Herbert broke the last third into another book. As a result, we got Dune at 400-ish pages and Dune Messiah  at 250-ish pages. 

Few books benefit from added words…

First lesson: while Dune Messiah is an important book that explores themes only hinted at in Dune, DM is also tonally opposite of the first book. If left intact, both in one book, it would’ve been like reading pots and pans crashing. In short, if Herbert had stuck to his guns, the result would’ve been a diminished book, if not a catastrophe. 

Secondly, once it is written, it is not ever lost entirely. The ideas broached in Herbert’s original book were still explored in a different format. Readers got six books and a rich science fiction legacy. 

The bottom line is you can write and cut it or write it and store it. But you must write it, even if no one ever sees it but you. Even if no one even knows why protag A or antag B does what they do. The writing is the process and there are no shortcuts: you have to write.

Ultimately, the draft should be as long as it needs to be.

The photo above is from the Ernest Hemingway collection. The text in the photo is from a 1940 letter from Hemingway to Max Perkins. Both are used here for educational/instructive purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.

Stories that Sustain Us—Scanners

More a declaration than a popcorn flick. 

Ostensibly a film about rogue telepaths, David Cronenberg’s 1981 film, Scanners runs SO much deeper than jump-scares and gross-outs. The movie opens in a shopping mall where a disheveled man sits down to enjoy a discarded cigarette only to be accosted by a judgmental prig. But only he can hear her.

We quickly realize that the man, Cameron Vale is suffering—not form the assclown's comments but—from the woman's thoughts. No more able to tune-out her mental hostility than he is to break his gaze, Cameron stares until the woman collapses in the throes of a fit.

While the viewer is still processing who-did-what-to-whom the film shifts to a corporate auditorium, (“corporate” means nothing fun has ever happened in that auditorium). A guy who looks like an insurance salesman drones on about scanning and nosebleeds or some such. Honestly, even the empty chairs look bored. Then he asks for a volunteer to demonstrate the procedure. Hilarity does NOT ensue.

My sister hoodwinked me into Scanners. A sheltered-sensitive child, the movie scared the living hell out of me. Shellshocked by the auditorium scene, Cronenberg’s prescience flew completely over my head but then I was 12 years old, with no idea how brutal the world was/is/would become.

From shopping malls, to corporate excesses, to abandonment, Scanners was the first 80s movie, in tone if not chronology. It remains mirror-honest on Reagan’s campaign slogans, which, like this movie, looked a lot more like Gil Scott-Heron’s Winter in America sounds.

Lessons for writers

A lot has been made of the stilted dialogue in Scanners. But what that dialogue does is impart an emotional desolation common to the time. The ubiquitous coats reflect a cold society, insular and guarded. Incidentally that is my sensory memory of the 1980s: permeating cold, (weather, people, economics) all the time. 

More than “a dark and stormy night…”

The night shots, (Montreal doubling for every-city, North America) are close and menacing. Day shots, (Toronto, in washed-out natural daylight) are bleak and sterile. Using the environment to organically shade your story doesn't cost extra.

Look for different big-bads

Unlike most conspiracy films made in the wake of the Vietnam War and the Watergate scandal, there’s no shadow government here plotting against society. It’s just us, plain-old-normal humans who created the scanners. It’s plain-old us who lose control of living/breathing weapons and end up burned by the fire we started. 

Sometimes the underwhelming truth is more compelling than the sexy-shiny lie

Those of us who recall the ultimate outcome of the free-market 1980s, (the consequences of which continue to bleed us) see the same incompetence in the ConSec management. A global security company, ConSec is run by a bunch of “dads,” blinded by arrogance. They are tragically unprepared for the crisis that they create.

The best villain is gray, the simplest object is the most effective

Daryl Revok, our stated villain, has been in and out of institutions for most of his life. Abandoned by his family, he is an extraordinarily strong scanner. More important Revok is highly intelligent. He deduces what the scanners were created for and then turns the plan on it's ear. A master manipulator by necessity, he realizes that it’s easier to manipulate normal people through greed than by telepathy. Which is how he sways Braedon Keller, head of ConSec security, to be his mole. Keller is no scanner but he is willing to kill his own people to achieve a seat at the table with whoever is in charge. Revok makes a dog-collar and leash out of normal human desire for wealth and power.

The best stories hit the reader/viewer where they live

No, Scanners is not a great movie. Nor would I rank it in my top ten, (or 20 or 100). But over the decades since that frightful movie night in 1981, I’ve watched Cronenberg’s cautionary tale half-a-dozen times. I have also read the excellent novelization by Leon Whiteson. 

Like Cameron Vale, I was homeless within a year of seeing the movie. Like millions of other Americans, my family would struggle with chronic homelessness for years. I watched relatives and friends struggle with addiction, mental illness, and abandonment—all depicted in Cronenberg's film. All while millionaires became billionaires and Robin Leach celebrated their excesses on television.

Stick the landing

Corporate excesses, real harm done to real people, and bald-faced power grabs are the legacy of the 1980s and Cronenberg’s film. It is indemic in the ending. When a character proclaims “We won.” The viewer can’t help but wonder if it’s the good guy or the good-enough guy.

In her Sound on Sight retrospective, Katie Wong said, “Without Scanners, the 1980s would not be the same.” I think that without the 1980s, Scanners wouldn’t even be a footnote. What I know for certain is that when I watch Cronenberg’s film, (which I do when ever it's on) I feel less alone with my memories. 

Easing loneliness and softening harsh recall is an outstanding accomplishment for any story.

The photo at the top, "Scanners Theatrical Release Poster" is the property of New World Pictures. Its use here, for educational/instructional purposes is covered under the Fair Use Doctrine.
 

Genre Stretching: Interview with Jennifer Worrell

 

Like many (most?) writers, I aspire to write across genres. Like any strenuous exercise, that calls for some stretching. In addition to reading what’s current and/or hot in the genre, it helps to talk with others working in the genre. Today we’re talking with a scribble sibling near/dear to my villainous heart, Jennifer Worrell. 

Jennifer wrote the excellent crime novel, Edge of Sundown (read my review, here) and a host of short fiction across genres. Our topic today is erotica. Waits for the squeamish to run for the “back” button. If you’re still here, there will be a thoroughly explicit discussion of the writing process. You’ve been warned.

Now, let’s get SAUCY! 

First off, how do you define (for your own reference) “erotica”? 

Porn with heart.®  The saucy bits are frequent and given as much consideration as the rest of the story.  Steamy romance tends to focus more on relationships, and straight-up porn tends to skim over the story in favor of setup and action.

What was your introduction to the form? Do you have a favorite subgenre to read and/or write?

A very talented friend writes erotica, and he invited me to join Smut Marathon, a monthly challenge where writers were given prompts and moved up the ranks based on reader votes.  I was writing Sundown at the same time and finding excuses to stretch myself.  “I’ve tortured X an awful lot.  Time to lighten things up.  Off with the pants!”

As for the second half of your question, sex scenes can easily get clinical or purple or dull, so I like to read and write erotica with a sense of humor.  They play together nicely.  

Would you say your stories are more plot, character, or event/scene driven? 

Character-driven stories open up so many opportunities.  I often have only a basic idea for a plot, followed by brain-crickets over what comes next, then insecurity-led panic and a few fingers of Tullamore.  But one character’s decision or lack thereof can lead to a whole chain of events that seem to progress more naturally.

I’ve read that romance novels follow a genre form/norm: the heroine has to be a virgin, younger than the love interest, neither ugly nor conceited, etc.. What do you think are the erotic genre norms/forms?

I don’t read a lot of romance, but I’m aware of the Happily Ever After/Happy for Now standard.  I’d say erotica is the same, only readers expect a different kind of happy ending, with both/all parties satisfied.  I’m also seeing a lot of inclusivity, maybe more than any other genre, which I love.

Is there a difference between erotica and fetish writing? If so, where is the line?

I think it all comes down to focus.  The POV character or narrator’s mindset is directed at one thing, and/or imagery keeps returning to one body part or scenario.  

What do you enjoy most about writing erotica?

It’s a fun challenge trying to write the same basic activity a different way every time without fixating on slots and tabs, so to speak.  And since most real-life smuttery goes on behind closed doors, unless you’re writing something physically impossible, no one can insist your scenario would never happen.  Somebody somewhere has fantasized about that same kink/position/what-have-you.

What is most frustrating?

There are no good words for lady parts.  That and weird reactions from readers.  Some people assume erotic fiction is an invitation or an advertisement of personal fancies.  I write murder too, guys, Jesus Christ. Fiction.

Do you prefer long (form) or short (form) stories?

In terms of reading: both!  In terms of writing: I love long form to pieces, though I think I’m better at short.  But I’m a stubborn m’f’er, so here we are.

How many Freudian lead-ins do you think we can manage in this interview?

I was hoping for at least one, so I applaud you.

How do you think writing erotica influences your other work?

It’s a fun exercise in character development.  What do these people dig, and how do they interact?  Sex scenes are also shockingly similar to fight scenes.  Only if you do them right, everybody wins.  

You mentioned murder—and I’m huge fan. What other genres are you interested in? 

It’s stuck in my craw to write in (almost) all of them.  It’s so satisfying when you try something new and it works.  The downside to writing in multiple genres is marketing.  I’m doing a book signing in July, and mine will be one trip of a table.  

What genre/subgenre do you hate/have no interest in reading or writing?

I don’t want to dis anybody’s passion. I will say this: I don’t have the brainpower to pull off hard sci-fi or high fantasy, but I give all the props to anyone who does.

Obviously, this interview could've continued—as the conversation did. If not just as obvious, Jennifer is a good friend and swell writer to follow. You can find her here:

Website

Twitter

Facebook

The image at the top does not belong to me. Its use here, for educational/instructional purposes is protected under the Fair Use Doctrine.

Lapses in Writing Logic—A How-NOT-To

 

If you were to ask me for directions to one of Houston’s four airports you would be just as likely to end up at Bergstrom, (Austin) or Love Field, (Dallas) or La Guardia, (you can work that one out) from my instructions. Bad driving directions are forgiveable. Poor understanding is inevitable. Bad direction in storytelling is neither inevitable nor forgiveable.

If stitched together well, there shouldn't be major plot holes.

Narrative logic is the underpinning that the reader relies on to make forward progress. While never stated in Stephany Meyers' twilight, the reader understands that undying vampires would draw attention after not aging for several decades. So, the Cullen kids are new in school. In a few years, they'll be new in another school, too.

But no writer is immune from narrative logic issues. 

Edward Cullen is apprehensive about taking Bella around his family, (of vampires). But many of the Cullen kids are in school, where there is no shortage of blood temptations. See? There is a difference between leaving something to the reader’s imagination, (the narrative logic is the neurological path for this to occur) and just lazy writing.

And you're responsible for children?

There is absolutely no logic in Dumbledore’s decision to leave Harry with the Dursleys—or for Obi Wan to leave Luke with the Lars. Oh, there’s an explanation. When McGonagall questions Dumbledore’s call he reasons that Harry is best away from the acclaim he would be raised amongst in the wizarding world. So, instead, he’s left with a family of abusers. 

If someone is getting shot in act three, there had better be a gun on the stage in act one. Chekhov’s Gun, (wildly) paraphrased

That’s why we have editors or at least beta-readers. Sadly, not all writers avail themselves of the opportunity to nail down those loose ends. 

Explanations, no matter how compelling, are not logic and won’t make up for lazy plotting. 

Clearly, the author wants to establish Harry Potter as a decent person with great internal fortitude borne of the emotional desolation of his childhood. But that’s not how our psyches work. Those of us who experienced abusive home lives know that what is most commonly produced, (if we’re honest) is either a victim or abuser. Sure, there are those who escape that track entirely. But without counseling and/or medication that is just as likely as the other extreme: the monster. 

“Hannibal doesn’t fit in. With him, the bullies end up hurt.” Thomas Harris, Hannibal Rising 

But “safety” you say. Sure, Tatooine is the galactic sticks. Owen and Beru were not cruel or abusive, like Vernon and Petunia. But no, Luke was not safe with them. As we soon learn, Tatooine is deadly.

Obi Wan’s decision to ditch the kid with the step-uncle precludes early training and nearly sinks late training when the “New Hope” is nearly lost to an aggressive nomad from before he even ends up face-to-face with an experienced force user.

So, how do you NOT do this? 

First is to read. Read, read, read. Below are just a few examples of how logic is done well. 

Thomas Harris: Clarice doesn't end up in Jame Gumb's murder house based on bad decisions or forgetting where she parked or another contrivance—she's doing her job, following up on interviews with people who knew Buffalo Bill's first victim. 

Lois McMaster Bujold: Miles Vorkosigan buys a decrepid starship, (with questionable financing) not to save the ship as much as to save himself from the in-a-box existance his disabilities lend to.

Walter Mosley: Easy Rollins is a black man asking questions and any misstake could result in jail or death.

Jacqueline Carey: Phèdre nó Delaunay is a courtesan with few rights and fewer allies. When caught between thrones and swords, a failure of forethought is fatal.

Elmore Leonard: When Jackie Brown is arrested while running money for a murderous gun merchant, jail is the least of her worries. 

Octavia Butler: Lilith Iyapo awakes to find that not only did she survive the nuclear war that engulfed Earth but the cancer that had threatened to kill her is gone...but what is the gray tentacled being standing over her?

Through reading wide and deep, you’ll identify where logic not done well. You'll also quickly see where even charished authors could do a better job. It all informs your writing. 

Secondly, critique groups are immensely helpful early in your journey. They can help with the logical blindspots in your writing. As you help others see their own blindspots you'll also become more attuned to your own.

Third, you must, must, MUST develop an objective eye toward your own writing. Over time you can develop the ability to “think it through,” or plot out the reasoning from point A to point B and (hopefully) avoid losing your reader on the way to La Guardia.

The photo at the top is a publicity illustration for the Harry Potter movie franchise and is the property of Warner Brothers. The text was added by the author. The image is used here for educational purposes as covered under the Fair Use Doctrine.

The Importance of Fun in Your Writing

 

In 2013 I got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to query Janet Reid, SUPER AGENT, (my emphasis). For those who don’t know, Ms. Reid represents a who’s-who of bestsellers: Patrick Lee (The Breach series and RUNNER); Jeff Somers (WRITING WITHOUT RULES);  Thomas Lippman, Hilary Holladay, Dana Haynes; Gary Corby; and Phillip DePoy. She also runs the Query Shark blog, providing indispensable advice to those of us in the querying trenches. She’s right there with Donald Maass as top-badass agents, though Mr. Maass has better hair.

Back in 2013, Ms. Reid was a panelist at a Houston Writers Guild conference and was taking direct pitches. I had read Somers’ The Electric Church and to say I was enthused to pitch to Ms. Reid would be an understatement. As a volunteer I signed her in. When she saw my name tag and said, “I need to speak to you,” I damn-near died. 

See, all conference attendees had been invited to send participating agents a query letter and the first 10 pages prior to the conference. As a result Ms. Reid had a headstart in our conversations. And she used it. If, in any way, I gave you the impression that would be an uplifting anecdote to inspire you, let me correct that here and now. 

Those one-on-ones were rough and Ms. Reid is a tooth-chipper.

The late Roger Paulding, HWG founder and president, budgeted 10 minutes for each meeting. Few went 5 minutes and none were seated with her longer than 5. She was blunt and to the point. I paraphrase due to awestruck (iffy) memory, “You know how to write an action scene but you get in your own way and fuck the rhythm out of your writing.”

Others got a flat, “No.” Well, a “no” and some constructive criticism shotgunned out, late-for-the-train style. She didn’t waste time with me, “You said it’s finished? Email the full to me.” 

That was it. 

Over the course of four weeks, we exchanged emails. When I received the rejection it really wasn’t a surprise. I knew I wasn’t “there” yet when I queried her but I had already had a near-miss with representation. That experience left me thinking that an agent could take me the rest of the way to “there.”

While Janet Reid is many things, what she isn’t most is an "Uber" driver. She won’t take you there. But Ms. Reid will tell you how, (her blog is the best place to begin) to get there. Her parting advice to me, after telling me what was wrong with my story, was simple: start a blog, write for fun, before you query again, get an editor. 

Yes, I come from a long line of knuckleheads.

For a minute after that I wrote nothing. When I did begin to write and query again, I ignored everything she said. Still, agents requested partials and, occasionally, a full. A publisher I admired and met at another conference told me that my book would find a home but it wouldn’t be with his house. In short, more near misses.

Over time, I thought more and more about what Ms. Reid said. But only after I was burnt and busted on writing. I returned to school and got busy with a new career. Still, the words called to me. About a year ago, I started my blog. I also started noodling around with short stories. 

The stories are just for my entertainment. Mostly, to see if I can write a romantic piece or science fiction piece, or erotica piece, (maybe not the best choice of words). None of them will ever be seen by anyone else. They’re exercises in economy and phrasing and perspective. It’s fun. 

Janet Reid told me to have fun. Walter Mosley told me the same thing at a book signing years before that. I don’t imagine that my long form stuff will be published unless I publish it. I’m working up the courage to do that. That’s work.

My short stuff is fun. It’s why I started writing, over three-decades ago, for fun against long, hard days working rough jobs, and trying to recover from adolescence. Now, it’s fun against the work of publishing which will steal the joy from the life of writing. I write for fun. 

No matter where you’re at in your writing endeavors, remember to have fun.

The image above is of unknown provenance but is used for educational/illustrative purposes as covered by the Fair Use Act.

Ten Tips for New Novelists

 

Fit a Genre

Get a group of agents together, (booze helps) and a near-universal complaint is the author who can’t define their work. Sure, we’re all writing a groundbreaking work that defies labels. You know where that book goes? No? Guess what, neither does the bookstore clerk or, more importantly, neither does the Amazon recommendations algorithm. 

An agent needs an idea which publisher to pitch your book to. Upmarket fiction? The agent doesn’t want to pitch that to Hard Case Crime or Avon Romance. If you don’t want the agent to assign your genre, you need to tend to this matter first. Especially since many agents specialize in two or three genres.

Read Your Genre, Know Your Genre

See a theme? Someone said 300 books. I don’t know that there is an exact number. A good rule of thumb is to read the good, the bad, and the ugly in your genre, enough to know genre norms, (tropes, length, etc.). Does that really matter anymore? Well, one-hundred-ten-thousand words may be the sweet spot for epic fantasy but an agent is rejecting a 110K-word mystery novel at the query-letter stage. 

Think Big

I once read a science fiction novel in which the emperor of the known universe plays what appears to be billiards on a miniature table, (using tiny sticks) while conversing with his deadly assassin. This conversation could have taken place on the grasslands of a Savannah-like moon, orbiting a gas giant, with a lavender horizon, while hunting sauropods with shoulder-mounted rail guns. 

Why wouldn’t you do that—instead of playing with the type of toy nobody wanted for Christmas? It’s not like you have to get approval for a travel budget. 

The idea of scope applies to more than just science fiction. Forbidden love? Extramarital affair? The Bridges of Madison County is about a romance blooming in the middle of a family secret. Family dissolution drama? All the Pretty Horses is about a teen unable to accept the 20th century even as it swamps his life. "Chick lit"? The Color Purple is about an awakening of love, from a nightmare of abuse. 

All are simple stories told in EPIC terms. 

Train your Hero

Nothing kills  a reader’s love for a protagonist more than a writer’s logic issues. Because: mentally ill, in love (same?), or “not thinking” is lazy writing. And before you namedrop the Brontë Sisters, please remember that we stuck with Jane (Jane Eyre) and (basically) everyone in Wuthering Heights based on the strength of Charlotte and Emily’s prose. Or, to put a finer point on it: Heathcliff makes sense because jealousy and narcissism makes sense. Jane marrying Rochester does not make sense. 

Your protag, whether the reader is supposed to love or hate them, MUST make sense. Achilles went to Troy and met his doom for glory. John Sanford’s Lucas Davenport is one step from becoming one of the psychos he hunts. Clarice Starling’s compulsion to exceed her dead father continually exceeds all reason and self-preservation. But all of their decisions still make sense. 

Love Your Villain

If the big-bad is shallow, so is your story. I strongly subscribe to the idea that the villain (mostly) is a hero taken to their logical extreme. Magneto is a pragmatic Charles Xavier with a much lower “had ‘nough,” threshold. In Ryan Murphy’s Pose, Elektra Abundance is Blanca Evangelista without an Elektra to cut a path for her. 

Complicate

Forget Hawkeye and Cora in Last of the Mohicans, we only cry for Uncas and Alice. Likewise, by season two of The Umbrella Academy, I was GOOD and over Luther and Allison but desperately wanted Vanya and Sissy to have a happily-ever-after, (Hazel and Agnes, too). You have no idea which characters your readers will seize onto. Each character has goals and fears of their own, the more those lives intersect with your protagonist and antagonist, the richer, your story will be.

Repetition is the Enemy

Most new writers will end up writing the same scene, conversation, or event multiple times. This is due mostly to the fact that most new writers are writing in fits and starts. That’s where editing is imperative.

Edit ruthlessly. Identify duplicates, sift out the strongest and cut the rest. If you have to “catch the reader up,” consider more massive cuts. George R.R. Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire saga is immense—but he writes it lean and relies on compelling stories, engaging characters and short, stabbing scenes to hold the readers’ attention.

Clean it Up

Whatever you do with subplots, don’t just drop them. Examples of how it’s done right include the following. George R.R. Martin breaks your heart but he also gives you kiss on the forehead for your pain. Sure Hot Pie makes it but more emotionally compelling, so does Nymeria. Alice Walker brings you through Celie’s heartbreak and her healing but she also heals Shug Avery and Albert. Most importantly, she heals the reader’s heart with Sofia’s recovery. I’m damn-near teary just typing that. 

THAT is a writer in full command of their craft. Chris Claremont has no small characters. Rogue ambushes Ms. Marvel to steal her powers—and ends up with her memories. Rogue suffers with mental illness, unable to tell her memories from Carol Danvers’ memories. Wandering the African plains without her powers, Storm finds the ultimate hero in a village shaman who sacrifices himself to sustain the newest member of his tribe. Claremont’s writing is a master class in juggling seven (or 17) subplots and a chainsaw and tying it all up in a story cycle. 

POV is Your Discipline

You can have one or two or twenty-two POV characters, (hey, it’s your sanity). But if you’ve been working through 1-21 POVs for the run of your story and bring in POV 22 in the last chapter, you will have a confused, if not cranky, reader. You must also be consistent in each POV character’s tone and use. Whatever you do, DO NOT jump POV in mid-scene and NEVER in conversation or you run the risk losing your reader. 

Conflict is the Heart

Physical conflict, verbal conflict, and soul scouring internal conflict—it’s the meat of your matter. Natalie Zemon Davis’ The Return of Martin Guerre is a master class on conflict variety. Patricia Highsmith’s Ripley books take it all to the back alley. Get in where you fit in and then cause trouble.

The image at the top: Checklist, is by yours truly.