Three Aspects of “Revision:” Reworking, Refining, and Revisioning
By Barbara Linn Probst | October 20, 2021 |
Revision. We all do it … and do it … and do it.
Writers have had a lot to say on the subject. There’s Vladimir Nabokov, who boasted that his pencils outlasted their erasers. Dorothy Parker, who claimed that she couldn’t write five words without changing seven. Robert Cormier, who quipped: “The beautiful part of writing is that you don’t have to get it right the first time, unlike, say, a brain surgeon.”
One of the clearest statements about revision comes from the always-brilliant Neil Gaiman: “When you’re ready, pick [your manuscript] up and read it, as if you’ve never read it before. If there are things you aren’t satisfied with as a reader, go in and fix them as a writer: that’s revision.”
Yet Gaiman’s formulation isn’t as obvious as it sounds—because “things” and “fix” can have such a wide range of meanings.
Let’s talk about that.
What is revision anyway?
The word “revision” (literally: “to see again”) means different things to different writers, and to the same writer at different times. Sometimes it means changing a single word or phrase: because it’s more economical or precise; because the rhythm and alliteration are better; because you’ve used the word too often or too recently. Sometimes it means rethinking an entire character or character arc—for example, adding a pivot in a crucial scene, which alters everything that follows, and makes you go back and alter what preceded it. Sometimes it means switching from first person to third, adding a second point-of-view character or timeline, beginning the story in a different place.
Clearly, there’s no single or correct way to define revision! Instead, let’s look at some of the things we do when we tell ourselves that we’re “revising” and consider how these aspects of revision can support each other.
Scales of revision
For ease of discussion, I’m putting “revision activities” into three bins that represent the three levels we might focus on: reworking, refining, and revisioning.
Reworking is about the mechanics of how you tell the story. It addresses storytelling elements like point-of-view, scene breaks, pacing, flashback, emotional turning points, dialogue, and the use of interiority.
You might realize, for example, that the pacing of a scene needs to be improved—slowed down, through dialogue or the addition of sensory detail; or sped up, by deleting reflective passages that halt the forward movement of the narrative. You might need a better transition between two scenes, a better portal as you shift from one point of view to another, an additional obstacle or consequence or risk.
As you rework sections of your manuscript—foreshadow, delay, heighten a conflict, or change the order of events—you’re working with pieces of the mosaic and finding better ways for them to serve the story as a whole.
Refining takes place at the level of language. It’s about making your writing cleaner, sharper, or more lyrical. It includes concrete elements like grammar and cliché, as well as more elusive ones like rhythm and flow.
When you refine, your focus is on the word, phrase, sentence, or paragraph. You might delete a phrase because you’ve said the same thing twice, find a substitute for an overused word, or break a complicated sentence into several crisper ones. You might adjust the language so different characters speak in different voices, add a metaphor or descriptive detail.
I do a lot of refining, for example, in my use (make that: over-use) of dialogue tags. At some point in the revision, I go through all the dialogue in my manuscript (yes, really) and underline those tags. If I notice more than two instances per scene of heads shaking, shoulders lifting, pulses racing, lips or eyes or chins doing anything—as an accompaniment to a line of dialogue—I replace them with something fresher or omit them entirely.
That’s me. Other writers will have other tics that creep into their writing.
Revisioning is a shift in your understanding of what the story is about. As the label indicates, it’s a new vision from a kind of aerial view.
That shift can happen at any point in the process—a buried theme that takes on a surprising importance, a new twist that changes or elevates or expands the message you want to convey. Because this “aboutness” is global, it can require extensive changes in the manuscript.
In an early version of my work-in-process, for example, I thought I was writing a story about a woman who “thawed” after being emotionally frozen. But the more I got to know my characters, the more I saw that this wasn’t at all what the story was about! Yes, this new vision required far more work than I’d anticipated—for example, my protagonist’s backstory had to change, which meant changes in the arcs of the other members of her family—but, for me, this is where the excitement and the magic happen, as the story lights a path for me to follow …
How the three levels work together:
The three tasks, though distinct, aren’t necessarily sequential—as if you have to complete one level of revision and check it off the list before you can proceed to the next.
Sometimes they’re all happening at once or taking place in recursive spirals. Sometimes a change at one level sparks an insight at another level that you never could have foreseen—and suddenly, you’re redoing an early scene that you thought was finished or making a minor character the agent of an important plot shift.
At the same time, despite what I’ve just said about the intertwined nature of these three aspects of revision, they’re also separate.
That doesn’t necessarily mean that, as tasks, you have to carry them out separately! Rather, it means that each kind of revision addresses a different kind of problem. For that reason, extra effort at one level won’t diminish what’s needed at another.
Some of us—me, for example—love to spend time endlessly refining at that micro level because it brings a sense of satisfaction and “result,” especially when I want to avoid the issues that need attention at the other levels. Finding a stronger word for looked or said in a particular sentence, pruning a bloated phrase from ten words to five? No problem! A clear improvement that feels great …
It is great … but it can be a safe place to linger and won’t address issues like motive or pacing that can only be addressed at another level. (An additional danger with endless polishing is that it can be hard to delete a paragraph or scene that you’ve spent so much time “perfecting.”)
Similarly, no amount of re-working— tinkering with scene openings, condensing the flashbacks, tightening the dialogue—will give your story the powerful, coherent, thematic vision that is greater than the sum of its scenes.
Again, there’s no blueprint for the “right” way to revise. Writers are different, and stories are different. There’s only one principle that seems, to me, to be universally true—that there’s no way to know for sure that you’ve revised enough. There’s always something that could, maybe, be “improved.”
Yet stories are like people, never perfect (whatever that means), never entirely “finished.” And I’m starting to think that this is a good thing, a truth to embrace rather than resign oneself to.
It leaves room for the story to breathe—and helps us, as authors, to let go, give the story to the world, and trust that it will find its way.
What about you? How do you approach revision? Is there one aspect you tend to focus on? Do you do it in stages, or do you revise scene-by-scene? Is there an exercise or strategy that’s especially helpful to you?
[coffee]
Barbara (she/her) is an author of contemporary women’s fiction living on an historic dirt road in New York’s Hudson Valley. Each of her acclaimed novels (Queen of the Owls, 2020; The Sound Between the Notes, 2021; and The Color of Ice, 2022) was a medalist for prestigious national awards, including the Sarton Award for Contemporary Fiction, the Independent Book Publishers Award, the Hawthorne Prize, and the Nautilus Award for Fiction. Her fourth novel, Roll the Sun Across the Sky, launches in May 2025 and has received stellar advance praise. Barbara has also published more than 80 articles on the craft of writing and the writing life. She has a PhD in Clinical Social Work and has been a therapist, teacher, researcher, and advocate for out-of-the-box kids and their families. When not writing, she’s a serious amateur pianist and a traveler to spots from Iceland to the Himalayas. Learn more on her website .
I absolutely love the concept of imperfection bringing the breath and wiggle room in a work-in-progress. It makes the whole thing — every meh choice or rusty plot point or tbd void — feel more wholesome and like the opportunity it is to evolve a story later.
Thanks for this post, Barbara! Taking a breath now. :-)
Thank you, Therese! I’m so glad the post was meaningful to you. The ending that you refer to came to me after I’d done all that cerebral analysis—that is, I didn’t know I was going to arrive there, as I was working on the piece. I’d never seen it quite that way until I wrote the post, and it helped me too. A surprising gift, from the act of writing …
It’s an elegant, powerful idea, and I love it.
Barbara, I’m smack in the middle of all three of these levels right now and everything you’ve said hits home in such an immediate way. Shifts in character arcs, twists that change what came before and what comes after. It’s physical, like building and adjusting a giant lean-to. And you’re right, this is where the story-magic lies. We use the word ‘revision’ to blanket it all sometimes, but the three levels require very different muscles. I love love love the idea of seeing with new eyes.
And I love love love your observation that each task requires different muscles! It’s so true. We use one type of muscle for lifting a heavy armchair, and another for picking up a pin. To follow your terrific analogy, using the wrong muscle for the task might end up making things worse! (And I love love love the dialogue that happens here on WU, as reader comments add depth and breadth to the original post!)
Omg, I love each and every paragraph. I need to save this and read weekly. When I oil paint I seem to know when it is time to sign off but my writing takes me down different tunnels. Then before I know it I’m out on wide roads reworking often pruning and not finishing the manuscript. Never seeing the completion.
I know it’s an old belief about not being as good as most writers, so I try harder and in the process —more often than not—muddy the water.
Yes, I just realized I want to be up there with the top dogs. But, like all puppies one needs to grow and learn.
Your words inspire me to be a better writer.
Thank you
Suzie, your comment makes me so happy! There is nothing more meaningful than knowing that one’s words have inspired a sister writer. How to trust one’s instincts, wait, be silent, and accept that no writing is ever ever going to be “perfect?” It’s a journey we are all on, together!
Funny how different we all are as writers.
After all the time I’ve spent on PC so far – I’m in year 21 for the trilogy – I have found that working linearly, once scene at a time until it is ‘right,’ and then never touching it again, is what works for me. Coupled with a strong structure, my ‘process’ hasn’t failed me yet – and almost nothing except details has changed in that time.
This is not how other people write novels, and it is the result of personal limitations due to illness, but it works: I can handle a scene at a time. More like carving a whole page into a block of wood than like movable type.
There is intense work using all your steps, but only at the micro level. It can take me forever to write a scene – but when it’s done and has passed all the checks on the list, it’s done.
Part of the process is gathering everything from previous scenes that needs to be addressed, and a different part is pulling in the part the structure has determined goes in this scene, and not some other, to keep the plot moving into a predetermined end, and there is a huge amount of figuring out how it all happens – and then another one is done, added to the chain, and I move on. All editing including final polishing for language and tics, is done at this stage.
My beta reader gets a chapter at a time. And I rarely have to change anything due to her feedback, but it is good having her brain engage with it – she is always in my thoughts as I write and edit.
Frankly, I’m amazed it works.
So cool that we have different ways of working! Thank you so much for sharing yours!
Alicia, I know a couple of people who write like you do and it’s always such a pleasure to read for them because their stories are nearly perfect. Any feedback I provide are mere quibbles.
I’m all over the place with my writing and I really wish it were all easier and not so messy. But still, what a joy it is to gain new insights not only into our characters but the human condition. We are blessed to tell stories and you’re doubly blessed to have an ideal reader.
Barbara, thanks so much for clarifying revision stages. I’m at reworking! After a time discrepancy, scenes had to be changed. Transitions added and POV head-hoping taken out. It helps to work slowly and read the manuscript as you say, a reader, to catch the where is the author going with that? I’m working with an awesome editor/proofreader that follows my thoughts quite well. Her suggestions to expand or shorten parts of a scene help me to stay on track. 📚🎶 Christine
I totally agree that working with a mentor/coach/editor one trusts can be so valuable! There are always things that we can’t see because we’re too close to them. You are lucky to have found the right person!
Thanks for this, Barbara. Really enjoyed it, particularly its simplicity. There are so many books written on how to make revisions. While these books have their place, certainly, broad strokes are easier to digest and implement.
One other thing I’ve kept in mind for my current WIP is motif. My first novel was on high school reading lists and from time to time I’d check out student online book reports. They talked about the fire motif in my book. I hadn’t even noticed it, never mind planned it.
I can see now how motif is a good tool for reinforcing the theme of a story, kind of like the mockingjay does in Hunger Games.
Totally with you! Those core motifs (in my WIP, they have to do with breath, fire, and water) weave through all the levels of the writing. Perhaps that’s a fourth level of revision—the symbolic or thematic. The trick (for me) is to make it feel natural, and not to hit readers over the head with it LOL. As you say, it may arise from the subconscious … and then the conscious mind can embed it artfully. Thanks for this contribution to our discussion!
I love this post, Barbara, and your three categories for revising. There are some days when my brain is perfect for the minutiae of refining and others when it wants to dive into revisioning.
Because I use my critique group’s meeting as deadlines, I do a rough revision of each chapter based on their comments as I go along. Once I have a solid first draft, I do a major revision to address consistency issues and then start multiple revision passes concentrating on one or two elements each. Then I’m ready for beta readers and the next round of revising.
Revising is definitely my favorite part of the whole process. I’m a tinkerer at heart.
I agree that it really helps make it manageable to do it in layers and stages—as you say, concentrating on specific elements each time. Another thing I’ve found is that sometimes my “revision” was unnecessary and I end up returning to what I’d originally written :-) And that’s a valuable exercise too! Thanks so much for your comment!
Barbara,
Thanks for all the time and effort you put into writing this post. I imagine it helped you understand your own process as much as it helped me (and others, I believe), understand ours.
Your final two paragraphs made me smile. Writing The End and hitting “send” are the hardest yet most fulfilling things to do after months or years , in my case, of working on a manuscript. Send it out to the world. Breathe. Let it lie in readers hands. It is why we write, isn’t it? Yet the stomach does churn, or I should say, the gut clenches. And then we find out we’ve touched a reader and we sigh.
Thanks, Linda! And yes, you’ve uncovered my secret = writing a post for WU often helps me to clarify (for myself) what I’ve been doing already but hadn’t regarded from my analytic brain :-) I do think that many of us remain torn, each time, with this huge question of: “have I done my best, am I ready, can I let it go now?” … versus: “am I just getting tired and want to stop, but it is NOT ready?”
Sometimes facing that fact that one cannot answer that question is where the freedom happens (for me) … so I just breathe, trust, and treasure those messages from readers that you speak of.