Revision
“Lucky is the writer who loves to revise; blessed is the writer who knows how.”
I made that up. I’ve rewritten it numerous times. I’m not sure the word “blessed” conveys what I want to say. Same with “lucky” - far be it for me to imply that writers who know who to revise are any more blessed than those who don’t.
Ahhh … revision. The endless search to make sure that our words convey what we mean for them to. That the unique word, sentence, paragraph, scene, and plot choices we made added up to anything.
As every writer knows, books can come together, or fall apart, during revision. It can be the most satisfying experience in the world if you see things falling into their proper place, truths uncovered, flaws corrected. On the other hand, a writer lives in terror that weaknesses will be revealed, superficial characters exposed, and that you somehow haven’t achieved what you set out to.
Many editors say they hold their breaths during a revision to see whether the writer can effectively revise a manuscript based on the comments the editor has made. More than one editor has told me the reason why she’ll often pass on a manuscript is that, while she may like certain things about it, it needs a lot of revision and that, if she doesn’t know the author, she can’t be sure those revisions can be made.
Revision is a deep and sometimes necessarily ruthless process. Chapters must be callously tossed. Characters killed off. Your beginning may not be the right
beginning, your ending might be flat, and - how often does this happen? - you may well find that manuscript is sagging in the middle.
There’s no magic formula to the art of revision. Certainly, I don’t have it to offer if there is. To my mind, being able to revise requires instinct with mastery of craft. The frustrating thing about instinct is, of course, that it’s … well … instinctive. Natural, inborn, innate. I personally believe part of it stems from a lifetime of reading, and that even if you haven’t spent your lifetime reading you can start today and gain ground.
Mastery is easier to talk about. You can learn how to revise. Reading can teach you about both good and bad writing, which, in turn, can teach you how to revise your own work. There are craft books written by experienced writers that can suggest concrete guidelines. It’s a matter of picking through them to find which methods make sense for you.
I’ve learned what I know about revision from revising my own early readers, chapter books, and middle grade novels. Two craft books, in particular, resonate with me: John Gardner’s THE ART OF FICTION and Robert Olen Butler’s FROM WHERE YOU DREAM. I like them because they represent two diametrically-opposed approaches to the craft.
Gardner’s is all head. Butler’s is all gut. It works for me to combine the two.
But first things first: What is Revision?
It isn’t Botox, I can tell you that.
I’m leery of writers who speak about revision as “honing” and “polishing.” Sure, a writer should go through and remove adverbs and adjectives, evidence of weak nouns and passive verbs, often with ing-endings. (Two good sources are SELF-EDITING FOR FICTION WRITERS by Rennie Browne and Dave King, and Strunk and White’s THE ELEMENTS OF STYLE.)
That’s the easy part. Or, as one attendee at a revision retreat I recently organized said at the end of the weekend, “I realize I’ve been editing all my life instead of revising.” When you clean up your language, your manuscript may read better, but it won’t cure deeper, more fatal, flaws.
That’s the job of revision. Revision is meant to address the bone structure of your manuscript: meaning, character, plot and effect - the more critical aspects of a book that contribute to its overall voice. Unless you’re willing to take a long, hard look at each of these elements, you’ll find yourself polishing the surface. All the wrinkle-free skin in the world won’t disguise a weak chin.
Some writers refer to revision as a “re-vision” - literally, looking again at what you’ve written. Reading through to discover what you’ve actually created, and whether its overall impact is what you meant to create. (If you’re like many writers who feel they’re too close to their manuscript to do that, stay tuned. I learned a very effective method from E.B. White which I’ll talk about later in the week.)
In The Art of Fiction, John Gardner says that while there are no rules to writing fiction, there are techniques. “Writers must master them. Revision is one of them.” He goes on to give a sort of revision checklist:
“You need to know what to look for, how to spot it’s not there or where more may be needed; whether your emotion rings true and is earned; your ending inevitable or contrived; the overall effect satisfying or frustrating.”
Robert Olen Butler says the point of revision is to find meaning.
“Rewriting is re-dreaming. Rewriting is re-dreaming until it thrums.”
One, pragmatic; the other, more emotional. I combine the two when I revise and have arrived at this:
1. What do I have here?
2. Have I made what happens to the character I’ve created real enough that it will touch something in the hearts/minds of readers?
3. How do I make it matter?
(This sounds very heavy. You should know that many of my books are funny. Answering all three of those questions matters to the success of a funny book as much as to a serious one.)
The answer to Q. #1 requires taking a giant step back and a long, hard look at what you’ve written, in its entirety.
To answer #2 means dissecting and analyzing your plot with the specific purpose of discovering whether the conflict you created leads to important actions/growth, which, in turn, contribute to a satisfying resolution. (While I don’t outline before I write a book, I’ve sometimes outlined the manuscript at the beginning of a revision to see what happens in my plot).
To answer #3, you have to fix all your problems. Plain and simple: Delete, enhance, destroy, embellish, create, kill off. Revise for meaning, character, plot and effect.
The more you do it, the more it becomes habit and you know what to look for. I'll talk about what I look for more specifically tomorrow.
Maybe it should it be: “Blessed is the writer who loves to revise; lucky is she who knows how.”
Hmmm …