Three weeks
until San Diego ComicCon!
As it
happens. I’m actually a bit bogged down right now, trying to get everything set
up for SDCC while also doing a ton of edits (and also trying to deal with a
killer headache). To be honest, I was
half-thinking of skipping this week.
Fortunately
for all of us, Timothy Johnson stepped up and offered to scribble out
some quick thoughts on editing as a tool for improving our writing. Tim’s an editor based out of Washington,
D.C., and he’s got a debut sci-fi/horror novel, Carrier,
available right now from Permuted Press (go check it out). All things said, he has a pretty good idea
what he’s talking about. You can find
him regularly on Twitter or Facebook.
Next week, I’ll be back
to talk about sorting through feedback. For now, here’s Tim...
-------------------
This post
is not about commas. It's not about mechanics or style. It's not about verb
conjugation or misplaced modifiers.
I know many
writers bemoan the editing process. I get it. It can seem unnecessary and even
like a waste of time. But I promise you it's not. Even though you wrote your
story, it's still a crudely formed lump of clay.
So, I'm not
going to get into the nuts and bolts of grammar. This post is about helping
you, a writer, become better at writing. Through editing, you can take your
writing to the next level. It's about how you take the word stream of your
writing process and turn it into a cyclical filtration system for distilling
tight, compelling prose.
It's
basically how to become a Brita filter for literature.
If you came
in here thinking, "Ugh, I don't want to learn stuff. This is why I pay an
editor to make my writing good," stick around. As an editor, I can assure
you I'm human, and that's relevant because there's a quality quotient that we
can achieve based upon the work you present to us. That is to say, if you serve
us crap, we might be able to make a crap casserole, but it's still a crap
casserole. Give us better ingredients to work with, and the end result will be
better for it.
So pick up
your hammer and chisel, and let's get to work.
Find your brain stutters.
If you're
human, you probably say, "um," more than any other word in a typical
day. We say, "um," when our brains search for the right word but our
mouths want to keep going. Similarly, we have the same disconnect between our
brains and our fingers, those overzealous bastards.
"That"
is simple. It's the most overused word in the English language. If you see
"that" in your writing, chances are it's unnecessary and you can
destroy it with zero regret.
"This/these/those"
are a little different. We often use "this/these/those" as
demonstrative pronouns. That's basically fancy grammar talk for "you know
what I'm talking about, shut up." And they're perfectly acceptable,
grammatically speaking. The problem is they're vague, and if our objective is
to get our language tight and compelling, they aren't going to do the job.
Find these
(see what I did there?) and destroy them. Ask yourself what you're actually
writing about, and use a noun.
Another
stutter to look out for is passive voice. For many people, it can be difficult
to recognize, and some will even argue it's not that big of a deal. Well, to
those people, I say it's super popular in legal speak for a reason: passive
voice is unclear and confusing.
We often
write passive voice because we have action-oriented minds. We consider more
strongly the thing that is happening than the people who are performing the
action. You get a pass as a human, but as a fiction writer, you don't get to
rest on your laurels. Writing active sentences will serve you better.
To find
your passive sentences, look for statements in which it isn't clear who or what
the subject is. Most times, you can find passive voice by looking for any form
of the verb "be."
Let's write
a stupendously ridiculous example that combines all three of these brain
stutters:
"This
is something that you are wanted to do."
Now, if we
unsuck that, it becomes the following:
"I
want you to kill him."
See how
this edited version is way more direct, clear, and powerful? If this stuff is a
bit too abstract for you, let's dial it back a bit.
Find your weak language.
Generally,
people write how they speak. There's nothing wrong with that, but one of the
points of thinking about your own writing critically is to construct
storytelling prose that isn't boring, mundane, everyday language as if you're
telling someone a story in a grocery store checkout line.
You can
certainly crank the wrench too far and edit the human quality out of your
words, so the onus is on you to find a balance where your prose leaps off the
page but still is identifiable as yours.
"To
be" is the worst offender of being weak. I mean, "to be" is the
worst offender of weak language. "To be" verbs can signify passive
language (see above), but most often, they mark an opportunity to do something
more interesting. Find all instances of "be/been,"
"is/are," and "was/were," and see what else you can do with
those sentences other than pointing out that the subjects of those sentences
exist.
Beyond
existential quandaries, however, authors tend to filter actions unnecessarily.
For example, they may relate how the main character felt a bullet hit his arm,
rather than writing, "The bullet tore through his arm." Similarly,
authors tend to explain how the main character watched as a comet flew through
the atmosphere instead of writing, "The comet blazed across the night
sky."
Unless your
point is the character's internal experience with these happenings, you are
creating a buffer zone between me and the visceral experience. This is akin to
pulling your punches in boxing. Are you trying to lose the fight for your
reader's attention? Find all instances of "feel/felt" and
"watch/watched/see/saw." Chances are, you can hack the first part of
the sentence off, and nobody will miss it.
Moving on,
Stephen King wrote that the road to hell is paved in adverbs. He then continued
to use adverbs, but I digress. What are adverbs? They are essentially any word
that ends in "-ly." So, "happily," "dangerously,"
"doggedly," "grimly," and on and on. You get the idea.
These words are useful, but they signal a weak verb. Like adjectives, which
modify nouns, adverbs modify verbs; however, unlike nouns, verbs have the power
to imply additional information. In other words, we don't need no stinkin'
adverbs.
Find them
and destroy them. While you're at it, take care of "very,"
"almost," "about," and the like. They indicate inexact language and have no place in tight, powerful fiction. If we don't get the idea
from the word you're modifying, you've used the wrong word.
Let's keep
going. I'm good. You good? Good.
Gerunds.
Gerunds are the verb form that ends in "-ing." Generally, gerunds
describe a process that is ongoing, and while there's technically nothing wrong
with them, many authors overuse them and use them incorrectly. Seek them out,
and see if the regular form of the verb will suffice. For example, what's the
difference between, "The hobbits were dancing at the Prancing Pony,"
and "The hobbits danced at the Prancing Pony"? Five letters and a
space, and stronger prose.
As a final
language-strengthening tip, look for repetitive words. It can be jarring to a
reader to see the same word twice in a short amount of space, but also variety
is the spice of life. If you find you've used the same word twice in the same
paragraph (even the same page, if you want to be as anal as I am), it's an
opportunity to edit and make your writing more interesting. Seize that chance.
Your readers won't thank you, but that's the point. They'll never know your
writing was worse. They'll just be impressed at how good it is.
Oops! You learned something.
By employing
these tips, I promise your work will read better. And, by editing your work,
you will force yourself to think critically about your prose. You will slow yourself down, focusing on the small ideas instead of concerning yourself with
the big ideas. The small ideas are extremely important, because only through
those ideas do we, as readers, understand your big ideas.
If you keep
at it, eventually, you will recognize these weaknesses while you write, and you
will discover better versions of your sentences with progressively less effort.
It will become automatic and ingrained in your writing. By using these
techniques to improve the writing you've already done, you will improve your
future writing before you write it. More important, you'll look back and
realize that, on a fundamental level, you've become a better writer.
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