Ruminating On: Editing, Rewriting, and Other Divine Acts

“Writing requires talent. But to edit, is divine.”

On Editing: Editing one’s own work is the literary equivalent to sticking a cork up your ass during a case of explosive gastroenteritis. Nothing good is going to come out of it. When you edit your own manuscript, you run the very plausible risk of only seeing what you intended to write, and not what is actually on the page. There are a very select few that can publish and succeed without editorial services. So, I’m not saying it’s impossible, just highly fucking unlikely. Take into account, that as the writer, you are blind. You can only see what the story has shown you (If you’re doing it right, anyway. More on that in a minute) and you need an outside source to place your baby on the chopping block. Plot holes, grammar, spelling, punctuation, passive voice, unbelievable dialogue, are all things, we as authors, can easily overlook. Don’t be a pompous ass. You’re not perfection in prose. If anything, your first draft is a feral child. It has had no experience with the outside world. It’s not a lost cause either. Editing is a tough thing to accept. Especially when you initially see that sea of corrections. But once the fumes from the red Sharpie begin to fade, and your head stops spinning, you’ll see the gem that your editor’s excavation skills unearthed.

On Rewriting: This is the hardest part for me. I’m stubborn. I try not to argue with my editor, for she’s right 99.5% of the time, but there are times when I dispute whether or not a scene would benefit from a change. In the end, it usually does. I don’t see this at first, because I believe the story is what it is. I’m done with it. Just fix my typos and horrible grammar and let me go on about my business. If I had done that with ‘Bay’s End’ (ignore the content issues my editor pointed out) I would have had a thirteen-year-old kid kicking out a cop car window. Now, we all know that shit isn’t possible. I even know it’s not possible. But my inner douchebag thought it fit the flow of the story. As I said in my Ruminating On: Insanity, I have been known to be ‘fucking retarded’ at times. I ended up acquiescing to the change, fixed the problem, and the book was better for it. I will forever be in my editor’s debt for that. That one 50 word scene could have ruined the entire fucking book. But, keep an open mind: Not all editors are all-knowing, all-seeing geniuses. I just got lucky with mine. You will find some that are, themselves, ‘fucking retarded’, so keep your head about you. If your character is beating his dick before he attempts suicide, maybe he’s doing it to ease his nerves, or maybe he just wants to go out with a BANG. Either way, if your editor tells you to drop the tug-o-war session, maybe you should listen. Your decision should be based on the overall theme of the story. If it’s in the best interest of your character to whack his purple-headed-yogurt-slinger before swinging from the bar in his closet, then keep it and move on. But if that addition will lessen the emotional connection you’re trying to convey from him offing himself, cut that sumbitch like an Emo’s inner thigh. No hesitation marks, either, dipshit. Grab your razor and slash that fucker till you reach bone.

On Other Divine Acts: Talent is a motherfucker. To be told that you were born with something, or you weren’t, can deflate/inflate an ego quick as bunny rabbits fuck. To say that anyone can write is a slap in the face to every natural born storyteller out there. Sure, hard work and determination can get you a decent end product, but I guarantee you it’s not as good as Joe Blow who has to write because it’s all he’s ever done, all he’s ever known. This is where that fine line is drawn between Writing and Storytelling. Storytellers can sit around a campfire and spew out a coherent plot device with little to no problems in just minutes. Writers that plot and brainstorm, fuck up the natural process. You don’t tell the story, asshole. The story tells you. Remember that shit.

If you only take one thing with you after reading this diatribe, let it be this: Shut The Fuck Up And Write. Save the editing for the professionals. Rewrite when it deserves it. And if you want to be a writer, good on you. But for Christ’s sake, and your own, listen to that inner voice.

What? You can’t hear it? Never have? Well then… take up knitting, dearest, cause writing just isn’t for you.