So many words! So many words! Turning one novel into two helped to solve my giant word count problem, but I still had a long way to go to get “I Knew Men” into shape if I wanted to pursue publication. There were scenes and experiences that I had thrown my heart into, that I loved writing. Again, my manuscript reviewer, Marg, put it bluntly: “everyone has been to a wedding, and they’re basically all the same. I suggest you cut out all description of it.” My first reaction? But I love this part so much! It was such a romantic wedding, a real tissue grabber! And the proposal, too!
As I started the big task, with every scene and chapter I asked, “is this moving the story forward?” If it wasn’t, [delete]. The mother in me felt like I was chopping off the arms and legs of my baby. It was painful at times. Once I realized that my own emotional attachment was the only thing holding me back, I got over hacking out the fun Christmas scene from the original Chapter 19. Some of the sex scenes were removed, too. “He began soaping her wet skin like a potter at the potter’s wheel molding wet clay, caressing all the curves that yielded to the firmness of his touch.” Gone.
I saved all of the deleted scenes in a separate document to soothe my soul, and then quickly realized how valuable saving them became to continuity. “How did we get from here to here?” was a question I had to ask, to make sure the story still made sense after each big cut. Often, adding a little clarity to the places that survived was all that was needed to keep the story moving.
SIMPLIFY, SIMPLIFY
Along with Marg’s incredibly valuable notes, Stephen King’s book “On Writing” proved to be my best friend. I strongly suggest that anyone with a writing dream devours it. I wish I had read it before I started writing “I Knew Men.” It may have saved Marg a lot of helpful note making, but that’s okay.
Between Marg and Steve, I learned to show, not tell. Simplify the language, avoid overuse of adverbs, and cut out descriptive text that bogs down the action. In some ways editing felt like I was writing the story for the first time. The original manuscript was my giant lump of clay that needed molding, not Anna’s skin. By cutting out all the excess, I was turning my novel into a sculpture. It’s no Michelangelo’s “David,” but I think it is better than the twisted metal one on Bangor’s waterfront [apologies to fans of “Continuity of Community”].
