All the King’s Editors — David Corbett
By David Corbett | January 9, 2018 |
This post is part of the ‘All the King’s Editor’ series, which is the brainchild of WU contributor Dave King, in which WU contributors will edit manuscript pages submitted by members of the larger WU community, and discuss the proposed changes.
This is intended to be an educational format, and will hopefully generate useful comments on what changes work, which may not work as well, and in either case why.
The posts will appear on WU ~twice monthly. Dave will assume the lion’s share of the burden, with one of the other editors taking over at least once a month.
Each participating editor will have a unique approach, and speak only for him or herself.
If you’re interested in submitting a sample for consideration, click HERE for instructions.
* * * * *
Hi, everyone. David Corbett here. I get to be the first to present in this new format, where select WU contributors edit manuscript pages that have been submitted for editing. (Yes, I do professionally edit manuscripts.)
Bear with me/us, for we’ll be working out some kinks in the process.
First, I’m going to to present the work with my line edits. Deletions will be marked with strikethrough; additions will appear in red. Where I think I need to, I will try as best as I can to explain/justify/make excuses for my suggested changes. These explanatory sections will appear in an indented and italicized insert after the section in question.
Finally, at the bottom, after the line-edited text, I’ll have some additional remarks concerning other changes I would like to see on a developmental level.
We’re keeping the authors anonymous, to protect the innocent.
Okay, ready? Here are (what I assume are) the opening pages of Prophets’ Tango.
* * * * *
For the lucky living, the night was ripe. with all the degrees and possibilities of true love or common lust; anything might happen. It was the year of the Tiger—Nixon was running scared, Ted Bundy was just getting started, and the tallest buildings in the world opened down on Wall Street.
- Note: I believe the deleted words detract more than they add, and what they convey is presented more explicitly and vividly in what follows (i.e., they’re vague and unnecessary/repetitive). What remains is terse but evocative, imo.
Everyone who was underage in Connecticut was welcome in New York, and with all All the doors of the Stateline bar were open wide to the night, and the place was packed. Everyone who was underage in Connecticut was welcome in New York. The smoke-laden air inside pulsed out into the heat hot and humid ity of the fecund darkness, only to get and sucked back inside with a tinge of marijuana. There was a A furtive ly urgent commotion drew attention to in a dark corner of the parking lot. Fighting or fucking, it wasn’t clear, and didn’t matter. Payoffs kept the cops busy elsewhere, and April was in a hot hurry to be July.
The amplified sounds of a rock band complete with horns hushed all the night creatures around the ramshackle country bar for a hundred yards in every direction. The music held sway over all, from those in the worn, holey denim to the spandex and polyester crowd up from the city, and no one could resist the urge to move to the beat. Payoffs kept the cops busy elsewhere. The band, consummate crowd-pleasers, smoothly moved from rock to disco to funk and blues, with occasional stops at country and doo-wop along the way. A jukebox loaded with the top forty was on standby and no one could resist the urge to move to the beat.
Tonight, the revelers would include a woman with no heart and a man with no soul.
- Note: I rearranged some things in the preceding three paragraphs to make the picture clearer and try to make the impressions build from one to the next. I added “to funk and blues” for the sake of rhythm and added texture. I deleted the bit about the jukebox because it seemed extraneous and confusing, given the focus on the band.
Anna perched on a stool at the bar working diligently at drinking herself into a place of mental safety. so she could join in the fun without being assaulted by the rioting mental scatter of the other patrons. While fishing for money in the depths of her purse, she found a dusty, travel-worn pill — small, greenish, the embossed markings illegible. She shrugged and washed it down with the last swallow of her third tequila sunrise. Que sera, sera.
A syrupy warmth flooded through her body, the noise and jagged energy of the crowd receded, and she sat up straight and took a long, deep breath. that lifted her even taller in her seat. Thirsty with the sudden heat, her eyes scanned the top shelf. Wary of the change in her demeanor, the bartender said, “Honey, if you are going to you’re gonna be sick, please take it outside.”
Anna smiled in slow motion, licked her lips, and focused on him with devilish intensity.
“Thank you for the concern, barkeep sir, but I’ve never felt better and another one of your masterpieces,” she held her glass up like Lady Liberty’s torch, “will crown my evening, if you don’t mind. Double the cherries and,” she spread her last ten singles across the bar top, “please, keep the change.”
Suz stood beside Anna, her back to the bar, watching the crowd of dancers drifting back to their tables. She spoke over her shoulder to the bartender.
“Go ahead and blitz her. Looks like I’m driving tonight, anyway.”
On the far side of the room, across the scarred dance floor, Jack had grown bored with the rowdy conversation and laughter at the crowded table. He tilted his chair back on its hind legs, idly testing to see if, after hours of partying, he remained was still physically capable of dueling with gravity and winning.
The trick, he’d learned heard from a circus tightrope walker, was to relax from the center of your being outward. Quiet your mind and your body would find the way. For a string of enchanted seconds, he floated, arms spread at the perfect point of balance. He was ready to flap his wings and fly when the band started back up, drums and guitars grabbing his pulse, his focus. His chair wobbled and one of the girls shrieked, “Jackson, you’re gonna fall on your ass!”
More powerfully than the music, he felt the invisible caress and heard the intimate whisper that had lately been calling him back from the edge, back to life.
When she was alive, Hope had been a lady of the night. Tall, dark and elegant, she was beautiful and self-educated, wise beyond the narrow scope of her world in New Orleans. Born to the trade and After after the great war Great War but before the depression Depression brought the country to its knees, she never doubted her calling, thinking was born to the trade and thought well of herself and her sisterhood, just as she . She never questioned why her spirit lingered after her body had failed. She just knew instinctively she had was on a mission.
Samuel Archer Fortune, muscular and compact and the color of a white peach, had been an apprentice woodsman from western Massachusetts. He was only seventeen when he was killed by wondering ‘Why?’ when everyone else yelled “Run!” It happened on his last day felling trees for the railroad down in New York state, right before he intended to enlist ing with the Union Army. His mother, was grateful for the time being to know that he’d been buried decently where he died, nonetheless intended to . In time, she could rebury him when time permitted in the family plot with the rest of the ancestors. Many of the local boys who’d gone to the fight would never come home, lost in the maw of war forever, and laid to rest God alone knew where.
- Note: My additions in the previous two paragraphs are for the sake of continuity and logic. Also, I add a description of Samuel because I think his being white remained unclear, causing confusion later.
Death had taken them both Hope and Samuel by surprise when they were young and still optimistic. The two spirits now stood in that the Stateline’s open doorway shoulder to shoulder, oblivious of the patrons who, equally unaware, passed right through them as though they were no more than with the drifts of smoke. Although Hope stood a head taller, Sam was a formidable presence, dense with unused physical strength. So far, Hope had no way to know if Jackson Jude Bell—ladies man, hooligan, drug dealer and holy assassin—would be her last connection with the living.
“Are you telling me that she is your first assignment?” Hope said.
“I don’t even know what you mean by that,” Sam replied, bewilderment in his voice.
- Note: The deleted descriptive phrase merely belabors what the dialogue already conveys.
“Her,” she pointed her sharp chin towards Anna. “The one with the big caboose over there on the end stool with the big caboose.”
- Note: Anna is the one with the big caboose, not the stool.
Sam studied Anna like he was appraising a heifer at an auction. She shimmered in the light of his gaze. “I have an affinity for her that I don’t understand,” he said wistfully. Then he shook himself. and spluttered, “Is this what being dead is all about? Am I a peeping ghost? What happened to my eternal rest?”
“Oh, child. What ice house have they kept you in?” Hope looked to the ceiling, beseeching help. “What ice house have they kept you in?” It was very strange, him being so inexperienced. “Yes, yes,” she soothed, “this is your job now.” She closed her eyes and tried to come up with the most basic explanation for him. “This is your job now. Can you read?”
“Of course,” he said, folding his muscular arms across his chest. He was dressed in heavy brogans, wool trousers, and a rumpled, brown linen shirt. His thick blond hair looked goat-chewed rather than barbered. “Just because I’m a provincial don’t assume I’m illiterate.” He was dressed in heavy brogans, wool trousers, and a rumpled, brown linen shirt. His thick, blond hair looked goat-chewed rather than barbered.
Hope stifled a smirk. “Easy, easy brother. I was just thinking about something I read on a sign somewhere. It said, ‘Protect and Serve’. Well, that’s what we’re here for, but I’ll warn you, it’s no easy job when they pay so little attention.” Looks to me like your girl is as dumb as a post as far as you’re concerned.” She thought about how long it had taken her to get Jack’s attention, and he still ignored her half the time. “Looks to me like your girl is tuned to a different channel as far as you’re concerned.”
Sam squinted across the room to see Anna raise her empty glass to the bartender. He scowled. “She’s inebriated. They all are! These times are steeped in sin. This must be my punishment.” he said, hanging his shaggy head.
Hope almost felt sorry for him. “You’ll have to get over that judgment thing. Not your place, you know.”
“Can they even hear us?” he asked, desperation creeping into his voice.
“Sometimes, but not with their ears. We have to show them things. Help them feel things. Make them see what matters. I’m Hope, by the way. ” She heaved a sigh. “ Looks like I’ll be showing you the ropes too.” She heaved a sigh. A woman’s work was truly never done.
Sam looked her up and down, a guarded appraisal. “How did you come to be that color?” In the tinted colored lights and gloom of the club, her skin gleamed like a polished eggplant.
Hope looked at him like he’d grown a third eye. “God, but you’re a rube. Don’t they have coloreds in — where did you say you were from?”
“Danford, Massachusetts,” he replied, as if it was someplace that mattered.
“Never heard of it.” She sniffed and tossed her shawl higher up on her shoulder. Was he trying to annoy her? “And Well, never you mind what color I am. Men paid big money for my time. We’re all the same inside where it matters, cher.”
It was clear to her that Sam had no idea what she was talking about. He had surely been a virgin when the widow-maker stove in his head, likely only rarely acquainted with his right hand, sin that it was and all. His blue eyes, wide in his snubbed-nosed, ruddy face, were tracking every pretty girl in sight, but the tracks all led lead back to Anna.
Hope watched him out of the corner of her eye, wondering at his purpose, and then it came to her. “That was you with her in Boston and again outside that juke joint, am I right?”
Sam blushed and looked down at his feet, but then his gaze shifted back to Anna with a fierceness that surprised her.
“I was glad to do it. She needed me.” His voice softened. “She knew me. I thought I was dreaming.”
Oh, brother. He’s in love with her. No wonder she’s so screwed up. Hope understood the problem all too well. The music began. She elbowed him gently and said, “Pay attention now, it’s time. You just watch. Let her fall into it.” It was not the most auspicious time or place, but Hope took what she could get. Besides, she , and surely had no say over scheduling.
Perfectly high, a little drunk, and no longer concerned about the border between the two conditions, Jack was drifted ing away from the loud overlapping conversations overlapping around the table. full of acquaintances and customers. Hope glided up beside him, leaned a long thigh against his upper arm, and rested her hand on his bare shoulder.
Come on, Jack. Heed me now. She breathed a chill sigh onto his gold earring. He turned his head toward the cool wisp of contact and saw Anna sitting at the bar, her backside to him, her hair tumbling down her back in an unfashionable horsetail, feet bare, sandals shucked to the floor under the stool.
Hope whispered to Jack from her heart, hoping he would hear her this time: That’s right cher, there she is. Go on now. Go get her.
Hope stood tall, let her gaze linger on Jack’s face for a moment, then glided back through the crowd on the dance floor to stand beside Sam.
* * * * *
Preliminary thoughts: This writing reveals a strong and distinctive voice, with a good command of language and tone, and the story setup is intriguing.
I’m concerned about the point of view (POV), because it feels a little loose on deck. It starts in omniscient (which is handled reasonably well, no mean trick), then briefly visits Anna, then Jack, and finally settles into Hope’s POV for a reasonably long period. It returns to Jack with “Perfectly high, a little drunk…” but then quickly reverts once again to Hope, who closes out the section. This feels a bit like head-hopping. Also, the predominance of Hope’s POV begs the question — why not present the entire introduction from her perspective, and then use multiple third person (instead of a drifting omniscient ) for the rest of the book? (If this writer were my client, I’d raise this issue with her.)
My line edits tried as much as possible to further emphasize the writing’s strengths. As you can see, I largely kept my changes to deletions (where I thought the language got needlessly wordy or over-descriptive).
I also deleted some of the clutter around the dialogue, which normally only repeated what was already implicit in the dialogue itself. (Note to author: trust your dialogue.)
Finally, I moved certain phrases and sentences around to maximize their impact. In places, the original text merely accumulated details, rather than letting them build toward a strong impression. I also felt the logic suffered in certain places due to this less than optimal placement of details.
All of those changes, however, are relatively minor. Once they were made, even though the text was stronger, it still seemed that something remained missing.
The problem, in my opinion, is the introduction of four main characters in a very short amount of time. It helps that they’re paired off, but the exchange between Hope and Samuel so clearly dominates the opening, especially given the uniqueness and strength of Hope’s voice, that we’re left wondering about Jack and Anna, who feel slight by comparison.
Adding to that problem is the fact that the introduction informs us that Anna “has no heart” and Jack “has no soul.” But does the rest of the section confirm that, let alone develop it? Does Anna seem heartless, or simply a bit of a sloppy drunk? And though we learn Jack is a “holy assassin,” which may explain his lack of a soul, he seemingly sits among friends, since he’s at a crowded table, and someone calls him by his name, and acts more like a doofus than a killer.
In short, Anna’s heartlessness must be conveyed more convincingly, as does Jack’s lack of a soul. Right now those qualities feel like something the writer introduced for effect but then failed to develop in any meaningful way. I wouldn’t belabor their introductions much longer than they currently are, but I would create scenes that clearly show those two extreme traits — heartlessness, soullessness — so that we see clearly the challenges that Hope and Samuel face.
What do you think? What do you consider the writing’s strengths? What changes would you suggest? Where do you disagree with my changes, and why?
David Corbett (he/him) is the author of seven novels: The Devil’s Redhead, Done for a Dime (a New York Times Notable Book), Blood of Paradise (nominated for numerous awards, including the Edgar, Do They Know I’m Running?, The Mercy of the Night, The Long-Lost Love Letters of Doc Holliday, and The Truth Against the World. He has also published the story collection Thirteen Confessions and the novella The Devil Prayed and Darkness Fell.
David’s short fiction and poetry have appeared in a broad array of magazines and anthologies, with pieces twice selected for Best American Mystery Stories.
His non-fiction has appeared in numerous venues, including the New York Times, San Francisco Chronicle, Narrative, Zyzzyva, MovieMaker, The Writer, and Writer’s Digest.
He has taught both online and in classroom settings through the UCLA Extension’s Writers’ Program, Book Passage, LitReactor, 826 Valencia, The Grotto in San Francisco, and at numerous writing conferences across the US, Canada, and Mexico. In January 2013 Penguin published his textbook on the craft of characterization, The Art of Character (“A writer’s bible that will lead to your character’s soul.” —Elizabeth Brundage), and Writer’s Digest published his follow-up, The Compass of Character, in October 2019.
David, I need to be working on what pays, but this opportunity to dig into someone else’s writing and follow along after you is just too tantalizing.
We start out with realism and then move into magic. The transition is startling but clear. I do wonder: what if Hope and Samuel were to come first, before Anna and Jack? So far, I find H&S more interesting as characters than A&J.
Just a couple of picky suggestions from the first few paragraphs:
Anna was perched on a bar stool, drinking herself into…
She fished in her purse for money and found a dusty…
(Note: taking out a few extra words to sharpen meaning)
The sudden heat made her thirsty, and she scanned the top shelf with its row of bottles.
(Note: the dangler as received suggests that her eyes were thirsty, and it helps to populate the shelf)
Now my desk is yelling at me. Gotta go make some bucks, after which it will be fascinating to see what others suggest.
Thanks, Anna.
Great catch on the dangler (he said sheepishly). I wondered about introducing Hope and Samuel first as well, but that would require a degree of editing that I think would lie beyond what we could do here intelligibly. If I were this writer’s editor, I’d discuss that, along with the POV issue.
Tell you desk to have better manners!
Actually, I liked the sudden introduction of magic into the mundane world. That kind of surprise can keep readers reading to find out what’s next.
This line:
He had surely been a virgin when the widow-maker stove in his head,
Doesn’t make sense to me.
And Thank You David for posting this.
Thanks, James. I took that to mean whatever it was that killed Samuel. I’m assuming a falling tree, given his line of work, and granted the writer some poetic license. That said, “widow-maker” was more often used in reference to a firearm, and it is potentially confusing.
A “widowmaker” is an archaic term for a tree that falls unexpectedly. I thought its use kind of emphasized Hope’s other-era credentials. “Stove,” was a nice choice, too.
Whoa. Allow me to eat my ignorant words. Thanks for that info, Dave.
I loved “widow maker.” It is evocative and frequently used in wilderness adventure circles to describe seemingly innocent looking things that may unexpectedly do you in. Think dead limbs, rotten trees, loose rock, slide areas, dry creek beds, avalanche slopes. Innocent enough and easy to miss when setting up camp in fair weather, and then bump you off in the night. Great article. Very insightful.
Very familiar with widowmakers. My husband is in forestry and it’s quite common for young tree workers to forget to inspect a tree before cutting it down. A widowmaker is a tree with a broken and loose branch or tree top that’s just dangling in the tree to be cut or in a nearby tree. While the tree is being cut, the vibration causes the loose piece to fall on the operator. Widowmakers account for over 10% of all deaths in forestry so the poor guy probably wasn’t paying close enough attention.
Great edits and solid analysis. I’d add only that once we readers meet the dead spirits in the doorway our minds are racing ahead of the action. I’d get us through the second half of the passage faster.
Thanks, Don. Interesting point about the pacing. I re-read Atonement over the holidays and am currently reading The Fall, so I may be more indulgent with “patient prose” than the current zeitgeist would prefer. Overall, though, I agree that this writer’s strength — voice — can easily become a weakness if language is indulged for its own sake.
I like the term “patient prose.” I’m a patient prose reader, but I also accept the fact that most readers today prefer a faster pace. I’ve learned so much from both of you. Thanks for all you do.
David, I’m with you on the point of view problem. This is where readers first get to know the characters, and that’s much less likely to happen if they’re seeing them from the outside, or hopping from head to head without a chance to settle down. Jack evidently has some strong feelings, shaped by a nineteenth-century Massachusetts upbringing, about the state of the modern world. Those feelings would come through more strongly if we were to see the bar through his eyes — not only seeing what he sees but seeing it described in the language he would use. This would bring him to life and begin to establish his relationship to Anna before they even meet.
It’s an intriguing problem — and a sophisticated one. The omniscient narrator allows the writer to cover a lot of terrain quickly — though not quickly enough for Don’s tastes — and yet that same facility takes away from some of the potential richness in the scene. One of the risks of an omniscient narrator is the tendency to focus on situation rather than character. And yet if we allow the characters more space, does that necessarily slow the scene down even more? Is that necessarily a bad thing?
I think the solution might be to grant the ghost characters more room on the page, but present a less static tableau for them to witness — i.e., have Jack & Anna be doing something that genuinely moves the story forward, to which their ghostly counterparts are obliged to respond (or at least interpret).
David–I like your idea of granting “the ghost characters more room on the page….” I can see all this recast through the two ghosts observing their “assignments.” Then the living characters take over, but the reader understands they–the humans–are being observed. And so forth. Lots of opportunities in such an arrangement for readers being engaged, both by each pair of characters, and by dramatic irony, knowing what the humans don’t.
Thanks, Barry. I think that’s a great point about using dramatic irony by letting the reader have access to information from the ghost characters’ perspectives that Anna and Jack don’t.
Sorry, I got Jack and Sam confused in my response. It’s Sam who’s the puritanical young man.
I enjoyed this peek at the tightening process.
I really enjoyed reading this – the story and the edits. Fascinating how a bit of tweaking and shuffling can make a story flow much more smoothly.
Nice work! Definite improvement in narrative flow and pacing.
Did the stereotype of the black hooker bother you at all? It did me, as potentially racist and definitely cliched. If’n it were me … depending on the stage of the ms. (development or polish), and the receptiveness of the author, I might suggest options to think outside the tight white perspective. An awareness of other realities would deepen this story world, while playing against type might heighten what’s interesting in it.
The other aspect that gave me pause was the characters’ essential passivity. Hope is the only one with any movement or gumption, and she’s just doing her job. Nobody really *needs or wants* to do anything, so there’s no real drive here, just set-up and atmosphere. That’s okay in the first few pages, maybe, but it’d be a problem if it continued. It’s indeed a “static tableau.”
Perversely, I didn’t mind the omniscience. The author did it well. Multiple POV is not against the law (yet). A few writers (Lauren Groff comes to mind) milk it for specific narrative purposes. To paraphrase one of my favorite teachers, it’s not a question of what you can do, but what you can get away with.
Hi, Mary:
I agree that making Hope something other than a prostitute would be not just wise but far more interesting. I also agree, though, that making such a suggestion would depend on what stage of the manuscript’s development we’re at, and the author’s receptiveness. But it’s the editor’s job to tell the author what he or she might not want to hear, so it’s a very valid point, and one that should be passed along. (I was so absorbed in just the mechanics of getting this thing up on the website in an intelligible form I’m sure I missed more than just that — e.g., the dangling modifier Anna pointed out. Thanks for mentioning this.)
I also agree that this writer handled the omniscient narration reasonably well, but it did play into the “static tableau” problem, thus my suggestion that Jack and Anna be engaged n something that not only moves the story forward (and is thus much more active) but that reveals the heartlessness and soulnessness promised in the narration but not delivered.
I’m a little confused about your comment about multiple POV, because it seems to equate that with omniscient narration. Maybe I’m misunderstanding you. But I distinguish multiple third from omniscient on the grounds the latter has a single distinct narrative voice (though it may inhabit the perspectives of several characters, and drift from one to the other), while multiple third roots itself distinctly within a certain scene or chapter in a unique character’s POV, not that of an all-knowing narrator. I’m sure you know that, so I’m pretty positive I just misunderstood your point.
I once heard Don Winslow quip that he’d “change POV in the middle of a syllable if her could.” I then complained to him that I had several students and clients who wrote as if that really were possible. His reply: “If you can juggle five balls, great trick. Drop one, not so great.” (Which goes to what you teacher said.)
You’re right, I was fuzzy (good catch). I think of omniscience as “the eye of God” which might include a narrator with knowledge of the future and past (or not), but also the ability to dip into the minds and motivations of characters at will within the same scene. (Yes, the dreaded head-hopping.) So I’m using “multiple POV” as a subset of omniscience–mostly because that’s how I learned it. And it’s a risky technique, because it can crash and sink beneath its own thin ice. Lauren Groff, in her recent novel _Fates and Furies_, has a chapter (just one) that does it brilliantly to open up a party scene with many conflicting and amusing layers. Even the cat has a POV.
You, I think, are using “multiple third” to mean one POV per scene or chapter but alternating–a much more sensible approach.
I should have named my source, as you did. The teacher I quoted was William Murray, the wonderful detective novelist and New Yorker writer. He was my advisor at UCSD when I was a writing student, way back when. Office hours were occasionally at the Del Mar race track, where he imparted wisdom on handicapping as well as POV and plot. He had excellent instincts in both arenas.
Dave,
When I’m browsing for a new book, there are a few words that cause me to immediately pass: ghosts, vampires, zombies, angels horror, paranormal, supernatural, etc. … however, I’m intrigued by the beginning of this story: Are Hope and Sam ghosts or angels? Or, in the author’s world, are angels really ghosts who ‘serve and protect’? I don’t know, and maybe it’s just my inexperience with the genre, but I would keep reading to find out. So far, I like the four mcs, and want to know their stories and see how they interact.
That said, I do have a few concerns/suggestions and one disagreement with you. First, a moment of agreement: describing Anna and Jack as heartless and soulless prepped me for much darker characters than I even got a hint of in the subsequent narrative.
First, it seems Hope and Sam died about 60-70 years apart, Sam at about the time of the Civil War (he was going to join the “Union” army), and Hope sometime between about 1940-50 (if she was born between 1918 and 1929, and, like Sam died young, say about age 20). Since this indicates that Sam died before Hope, I found it puzzling that Hope is the one with the experience to be Sam’s guide/mentor. Unless, this has something to do with the Hope’s question about ‘what ice house’ Sam was kept in, this doesn’t make any sense (to me).
Second, if Sam’s question about Hope’s color is meant to indicate that he’s never before seen ‘a colored’, that would be so highly unlikely as to be simply historically inaccurate. Not only were there African slaves in New England, but Fredrick Douglass lived in New Bedford, MA, and was a recruiter for the 54th MA Infantry serving the Union army. Also, MA was the first to recognize slavery (which included native Americans as well as Africans) as a legal institution in 1641, where the shipping harbors, including those in MA, played a major role in the practice of slavery. So, unless there is some story element about Hope’s particular shade of blackness, or Sam being raised in complete isolation until he went off to be an apprentice woodsman, this doesn’t ring true (at least to me).
And, speaking of ringing true, this is where I disagree with one of your suggested changes. Given Hope’s earthly location, New Orleans, and time (mid 1930s-mid 40s), and occupation, “dumb as a post” strikes me as a more authentic way for her to speak than “tuned to a different channel.” (Yes, I’m afraid I’m ‘that’ reader–the one who finds every inconsistency, every lapse in logic, every misspelled word, every omitted word, etc.
One last (really) picky note: I couldn’t find a Danford, MA, although there is a Danforth Falls in MA. Again, maybe a story element to be revealed later–a colonial settlement that became a “ghost” town around the time of the Civil War? Or, maybe vanished, Brigadoon like? (Okay, I’ve gotten waaaay to involved in this–my story brain has gone into high gear. Where was it this morning when I was working on my story?)
It may not seem like it, but for me the best part of today’s post is the POV discussion because that’s what I struggle with most. I can’t seem to limit a story to one or two mcs. The story I began a few weeks ago has nine characters, nine children and four adults and I can’t see how I could tell it without all of them. I’m wondering if I’m approaching POV correctly? I think of it as something internal to the character–a bit of insight into another character, or when we’re privy to what someone is thinking or feeling. Right track? I don’t think I’ve done any head-hopping in this story, but I’m only a few thousand words into the rough draft, so it’s still early.
Thanks so much doing this. I found today’s edits and explanations so helpful and am looking forward to the next post in this series.
Tried to edit this, but discovered that at some point I’d hit the wifi button as was offline. So, my edits to my comment:
Beginning of third paragraph: delete “First”, begin with “It”.
Fourth paragraph: Delete “Second” and begin with “Next”; third sentence, delete “including those in MA,” (repetitive).
Fifth paragraph: end with closed parentheses.
Seventh paragraph: third sentence, change “nine children” to “five children”, or else it won’t add up. There are nine characters, not thirteen, and nine is plenty. (Unruly fingers on the keyboard tonight.)
I have found this exercise beneficial in so many ways. I’m beginning the process of writing a novel, so this post speaks directly to what I need to learn.
As a reader of this scene, I found, between meeting four characters, two of them tending on the flat side, and head-hopping, it made it difficult to understand what was happening. As the starting scene of a story, I’m afraid I’d have to reread to get it all straight. There wasn’t enough action, intrigue, nor my inner questioning mechanism alerted to warrant moving to the next scene.
I enjoyed the words the writer used to convey attitude and scene setup.
Reading David’s edits and explanation, along with other comments from established writers is a powerful way to remove as many pitfalls in my path from the onset of my journey.
My thanks.
Thanks to Dave King and David Corbett for this amazing experience!
It’s been a month and change since I submitted my pages in the kind of blind panic that’s easy to forget. I was completely freaked out to see that “Prophet’s Tango” was going to be the first sacrificial lamb for this grand experiment. I know the ms has a long way to go, but the general feeling of encouragement and support that came through everyone’s comments has been like a week at the beach in the middle of this miserable winter.
Thank you all!
I enjoyed watching the manuscript shape-shift into something more readable. A true magician at work!
Great idea, and one I will take advantage of. But the article doesn’t say where to send submissions for consideration:
Directly to David Corbett, or to Writer Unboxed??
Coming very late to the discussion as I am in the middle of moving residences, leaving little time to check in with blogs I enjoy. I agree with your suggested edits, David, and really liked your note to author, “Trust your dialogue.” I find that a recurring problem with some of my clients and have given them the same advice. I also tell them to trust the reader to be able to get it without us as writers having to add those extras.
My main issue with this opening to a story is that I am not sure who is the central character? Whose story is this? I am currently listening to The Husband’s Secret by Liane Moriarty, a story that unfolds in patient prose, but the set up is clear as to whom I should care the most about. I don’t get that from the opening of this sample.
This series of editing posts is a great addition to the WU lineup. Thanks.